Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo
by Bra1n1ac
Summary: A fresh continuity on the Marvel universe, reimagined from what was, with some similarities and some differences.  Tragedies, triumphs, glories and wondrous sights.  Depression enthusiasts need not apply.
1. Issue 1: Scoop

Wait! Before you start reading!

Alright, this is a project of mine I felt like doing, because I'm really more into DC at the moment for the following reason. Lately, Marvel Comics have been about one thing and one thing only. Watching bad things happen to good people. I don't believe that's what superheroes are for. Superheroes are there to inspire us and give us hope, not to show us that everyone suffers and we should all be depressed. For this reason, and because Marvel has many characters who, with little or no modification, could be truly great, I now present the Marvel Universe Neo; the Marvel Universe reinvented for those who, like myself, still read comic books in the way a child would; looking for something or someone totally awesome to look up to, or better yet, to look up AT.

Basically, the Neoverse, as I like to call it, is a different, ongoing marvel continuity, in which many things differ, while some remain the same. I will be messing with the ages, character traits, personalities, skills, histories, and even the powers of many of Marvel's finest characters in these stories, so if you're an original-continuity loyalist, you don't have to read, but I certainly hope you can keep an open enough mind to read this stuff. At first, I was worried it wouldn't work out, but then, X-Men Evolution was fairly successful, and it did pretty much the exact same thing I'm doing here. This will be an ongoing series (at least one each month, like real comic books,) as will its counterpart; the Xavier Institute Neo. I'm not sure how long I'll keep doing these series. As long as I still enjoy it, I suppose. Anyways, I hope you enjoy Marvel Neo's first story and will keep reading for more.

-Bra1n1ac-

* * *

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 1

"Scoop"

* * *

Alan Jules frowned as he pulled up to the border posts. There were quite a few border guards, considering what a relatively short distance it was to the next border gate and how comparatively small the country was that they led to.

"Excuse me, sir." the border guard said, and for a moment, Alan was worried he'd ask for a passport, even though it was quite obvious that the Latverian borders recognized no passports from any other country.

"Yes?" Alan asked, "Is there a problem?"

"Well, sir, you seem to have taken a wrong turn." The border guard said, "This road here leads to Latveria."

"I know." Alan replied, "That's where I'm going. You see, I'm writing a book on famous..."

However, Alan didn't get to finish his sentence before the guard interrupted him, "Sir, I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but Latveria is one of the few remaining self-contained sovereign states left in the modern world. It participates in no alliances, signs no treaties, holds no significant diplomatic relations with any other countries at the moment, and recognizes no international laws."

"That's right." Alan replied, "That's where I'm headed."

"It's also ruled by one of the most iron-handed dictators on Earth." the guard said, "Once you're in there, his will is the only law there is. He could do anything he wants to you and you wouldn't be able to appeal to any outside authority. Do you understand the risk you're taking by even approaching these borders?"

"Yes, sir. I do." Alan replied, "There's a risk involved. I'm aware of that. But I've made my decision."

"Alright." The guard said, looking back and forth a couple times, then waving to the others, who hesitated for a moment in surprise, so he had to wave again, before the gate opened.

"I guess I can't stop you." he said, "But if you ever make it back out of Latveria alive, don't blame me for not giving you fair warning."

Then, with those last words, clearly intended to scare him off, the guard stepped aside and Alan, after only a couple of seconds hesitation, stepped on the gas and entered Latveria.

* * *

As Alan drove through Latveria, he found that there really wasn't much to look at in the place. Aside from the large, metal border walls and heavily-guarded gates, the most exciting things Alan saw as he drove across Latveria were green fields, trees, small lakes and marshes, and a few wild horses that fled when they saw his car, which clearly meant that visitors were a rare sight in Latveria, but Alan had already made the decision that mattered. He was in the country. Whatever else he did there, the danger wouldn't grow any greater.

However, after driving for about fifteen minutes, Alan found himself approaching a village. It wasn't very big, or very rich-looking, and it certainly wasn't the sort of place where large amounts of business are conducted in a hurry. In fact, people in that town seemed to largely be either talking, or trading small objects with one another, which Alan couldn't determine the nature of from a distance, but which looked like they were made of metal. One man was outside, playing a fiddle to impress two young ladies, and another was stepping, as Alan watched, into a nearby building. Everyone seemed to be either moving from one place to another, or else talking, or generally having a good time. He was surprised that such a place could be considered the territory of an "iron-handed dictator."

Alan parked his care next to a nearby building that seemed to be open to the public and grabbed his pen and notebook out of the glove compartment, then stepped out of his car and closed the door behind him, intending to get a few opinions out of the people there.

"Excuse me, sir." he said to one man who was leaving the public building he'd parked his car next to, "I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Alright." the man said, "What would you like to talk about?"

"Well, I was wondering how life is treating you here in Latveria." Alan said.

"Oh, an immigrant!" the man exclaimed, his smile broadening, "Well, I'd say life's just about as good as it's ever been around here, and a great deal better than it was when I was younger."

"Really?" Alan asked, growing interested, "What was it like in Latveria when you were young?"

"Well, it got very hard at times." the man replied, his smile fading, "Winters were a lot colder, summers a lot hotter, and we didn't always had enough to eat, besides which, most of our days were spent in extremely hard work. Oh, we still have work today, of course, but it mostly amounts to maintaining the master's machines, which isn't at all hard once you've gone through the master's training process. It's rather a simple job, but it keeps us from losing our focus, and reminds us we're still part of something much bigger. I can't imagine a better life."

"Really?" Alan asked, "What about the children? Do they still work?"

"Actually, believe it or not," the man continued, "the master has been allowing the children to attend his training lessons. He says they'll be more brilliant as adults if they're allowed to learn as young people. I suspect that's true."

"How do you feel about the master?" Alan asked.

"Oh!" the man exclaimed, still smiling, "The best thing to ever happen to Latveria, in my mind. He's fixed up just about everything that was wrong about the place since he came to power. Everybody I know loves him, and he's so just and generous. Every time I see him going for a walk, or making an announcement, or rendering judgment for the people, it really makes me respect him even more. Do you understand what I mean? I mean, there's always such brilliance and wisdom to his decisions. He's... Well, when he first came to power, a lot of us were worried, because of the way he looks, but... Well, these days, I actually think he looks kind of handsome. I mean, the master has pretty much given us everything we have. I don't think I could be repulsed by him after all that, even if he had an even number of heads."

"So you don't feel the least bit resentful that you have no choice over your destiny?" Alan asked, amazed.

"No." the man said, his persistent textbook knowledge of language and grammar continuing to make it difficult to really sympathize with him, "To be honest, I'm kind of glad I don't have a choice. If I did, I'd probably mess things up like I always do when I make a big choice. It's kind of a breath of fresh air to know that as long as I keep doing what the master wants me to do, he'll make sure it works out for the best. Plus, there's never any confusion about what needs to get done. It's a simple existence, but full of success and joy like nothing I ever saw when I was younger."

Alan finished taking notes, then said, "Thank you for your time, sir."

"Ah, not at all." the man replied, "It's been a pleasure."

Then, sure he'd gotten as much as he could out of the average guy on the street, Alan stepped into the building that the man had just left.

* * *

The building, which Alan had at first thought was some kind of hospital or police station, actually turned out to be a social club. Some people were eating, some drinking, but it wasn't like any kind of food or drink that Alan had ever seen. The drink was of a strange, light purple hue, but with bubbles in it like soda, and most of the food was either oblong-shaped or cubical, but it seemed to please the people drinking and eating it, respectively. It also seemed that the social club was one of the few places in town where people's speech tended to not sound so formal.

"Get outta town!" one man exclaimed to another loudly from nearby, causing Alan to jump in surprise for a moment as he entered, "Well, that's great! That's just great! Let's have a toast!"

They noticed Alan at that moment, so he gave them a short salute, to show he wished them well, and they saluted back in the friendliest manner.

"To Vernon" the man who'd proposed the toast said, "and his bride to be."

Then he, his friend, and at least three others nearby raised their glasses and drank simultaneously.

"I'm not so sure if I can drink to that myself." another man nearby said, "I barely know Vernon."

"Well, then drink to God." the man who'd raised the toast said.

"Or else to your country." another man said from nearby.

"I'll drink to the victory of Lord Doom." the previously-objecting man said.

"Well, I think that's something everyone here can drink to." Vernon said with a smile, "Except maybe our new friend by the door there, who doesn't have a drink. Are you new in town, friend?"

"Just arrived today." Alan replied as softly as he could, while still being heard over the noise of the club.

"I think you're going to like it here. I hope you decide to stay." Vernon said, downing his drink after only a moment.

Suddenly, there was a commotion from outside, and everyone put down what they were eating, drinking, or dropped the subject they were talking about, and headed for the club's exit.

"Sounds like it's the master." Alan heard one of them say, and when he heard that, he started to get worried. Had Doom been alerted to his presence already, and if so, how would he react?

Indeed, the figure who walked through town purposefully as Alan left the club, accompanied by a crowd of people who were also leaving, really was Victor Von Doom, or at least, it looked like him. Every part of his body seemed to be covered in metal, including his face, which was concealed from view by a metal mask, except for his eyes, which looked rather larger and more bloodshot than most human eyes, but there was a calmness in those eyes, regardless. Over Doom's armor was slung a green cloak and hood, with a gold-colored rope holding it onto him, and shining golden buttons about as large as the tops of tin cans on either side, over the top of his chest. The strange thing was that whenever Alan had seen a picture of Doctor Doom before, in newspapers or on television, he'd always seemed like a man who was very angry at someone or about something, or else cold to the point of seeming like a robot himself. However, the Doom that Alan saw there was an entirely different sort of man. As he walked by, people bowed at the waist, not speaking, and he nodded back to them. Not like the bows they were giving him at all, but just enough of a nod to show that he recognized their thankfulness and loyalty, and appreciated it.

However, there was one person there who wanted to show something other than mere thankfulness. A small boy ran up to him and spoke in a hurry as his mother rushed out behind him in pursuit.

"Master!" the boy exclaimed, "Please, master!"

Doom stopped for a moment, then looked down at the boy with his observant, intelligent gaze, and for a moment, it looked as if he might react suddenly or cruelly, but it was an illusion. Doom's mask kept others from seeing the expressions on his face, however, so many such illusions were inevitable.

After only a few moments of looking at the boy, Doom shot his mother a glance that said he clearly intended for her to stay where she was, and bent down to look into the boy's face.

"Yes?" Doom asked in a voice that sounded truly young and compassionate, despite the metal it had to pass through to reach Alan's ears, "Do you have a problem?"

"I'm hungry." the boy said, "I didn't get to eat lunch today... I was wondering if you might give me some,,."

At that, he trailed off, clearly unsure how his request was being perceived. Swiftly, Doom stood back up to his full height, his armor clearly doing nothing to impede his range of motion, as he looked to the boy's mother and said, "This child has not eaten today? What happened to his rations? I gave stern orders that everyone in this town was to have sufficient rations distributed to them each day."

"They... they were taken from him after one of the academy classes, master." the woman said.

"By whom?" Doom asked, seeming merely curious.

"A bully. An older boy." the woman replied.

"Milady, I will pardon you this one time." Doom said, "But in the future, when I use the word 'whom,' I expect to be given a name."

"Samuel Ferdon." the woman said in a hurry to cover up her mistake. Doom merely nodded in reply, then faced the child again.

"I will make certain that Samuel faces justice for what he has done." Doom said to the boy, "He'll do that to you no more. In the meantime, be comforted by this."

As Doom said that, he produced from the folds of his cloak a small disc made of metal and glass, and turned its base in front of the boy, causing a large, green cube to appear from the top, which the boy eagerly took, holding it close to him as he looked up towards Doom.

"Thank you, master." The boy said, smiling.

"A trifle." Doom replied, then turning to the crowd of people gathered there, he said "This boy has great courage to come to me in his need, and I have rewarded him for it. If there is anyone else here who has suffered an unfairness, an injustice or a serious need while under my rule, they may come to me for help, and justice will be theirs."

As soon as everyone in the crowd was certain that Doom had finished speaking, they all bowed to him again, saying, as one "Hail, Doom!"

Alan, however, could barely speak. He'd never seen anything like it. Here was a self-contained country with a single, undisputed monarch of a decidedly unscrupulous sort, and yet, his people worshiped him almost like a God, and why not? He did for them more by far than the ancient Gods had done for the pagans, and more than, some said, God himself did on their behalf. He gave them peace, justice, rich, rewarding jobs and more. He could do so much that people had once looked to a God for. Watering the crops, standing beside them to face an enemy, helping to heal their injuries and cure their diseases. There was no freedom, but... But Latveria was a paradise.

"Now for the reason I came here to begin with." Doom said, turning to face Alan, "We have a guest to welcome into Latveria; a guest who came without an invitation, but who, nonetheless, is welcome to share in the responsibilities and benefits of life in Latveria. Welcome, Alan Jules."

Alan was absolutely flabbergasted that Doom knew his name, but was, in truth, far more surprised by the warm, if guarded welcome he'd just received. He hadn't expected Doom to even be civil towards an outsider like him, much less generous and warm, as it seemed he was being.

Alan was just about to say something, when Doom stepped further forward, towards him, and Alan heard two more words escape his mouth in a hushed mutter.

"Say nothing."

So Alan closed his mouth, and Doom beckoned him further on, towards the place where Alan had parked his car. It had since vanished, but that wasn't too surprising. What was surprising was that a small, flying vehicle had been parked in its place. Doom motioned for Alan to take a seat in the back, as he himself rested his metal-clad hands upon the cockpit controls in the front seat, and soon, they were flying through the air at such a fantastic speed, that Alan clung to his seat for fear of falling out, at first, until he noticed a seat belt, and put it on. Doom seemed to need no such device to ensure his safety, however.

"That was incredible." Alan exclaimed over the roar of the wind in his ears, "I never expected such a warm welcome."

Doom laughed at that point; a genuinely mirthful laugh, amplified by some odd device within his suit, then said in an equally-amplified voice, "You are no threat to me, Mister Jules. I have no reason to be hostile towards you. In fact, I've read several of your books, and I admit, you have some talent. Still, I'm surprised that a man such as you would take the risk of entering the territory of the most dangerous man on Earth."

"I thought it might be worth the risk." Alan shouted back.

"So it will be, if you conduct yourself correctly." Doom replied, "You may find more here in Latveria than merely people who are fulfilled and secure, though that's all a sane man should need."

By that time, the craft had landed in a hangar in a large, stone castle, though many of the walls, floors and ceilings inside were lined with other substances, like wood, brick or metal. Once the machine had been turned off, Doom stepped out of it, and Alan knew by that point that he was intended to follow.

Doom led Alan through hall after hall in Castle Doom, passing by many dozen rooms on the way down to the lower floors, until they reached the ground floor, and Doom opened one of the closest doors to the staircase they'd just descended by. There, Alan was surprised to find a lounge, of sorts, although it had many books arranged in bookshelves near the walls. Doom closed the door as soon as Alan had entered.

"I'm certain that what you really want is a profile on who I am." Doom said at last, "Well, I am the absolute monarch of this country, to start with. Here, my word is law, and it is by my will that the people of Latveria live happy and fulfilled lives, as I'm sure you've already noticed, so I won't reiterate those points any further."

"I was surprised by that." Alan remarked, as Doom pointed out a chair to him, to indicate that he should sit. Doom himself sat in another chair, just across the room from that one.

"Oh?" Doom asked, betraying no emotion with that single half-word.

"Well, on the outside world, people don't view you as being benevolent in any capacity." Alan explained, "It's a side of you that's been well hidden."

"That doesn't surprise me." Doom replied, "Those in power over the world outside my country are the ones who decide what should and shouldn't be hidden, and every single one of them is my enemy."

"Why?" Alan asked, feeling a little surprised by what Doom had just said.

"How disappointing." Doom remarked, and for a moment, Alan was worried he might sentence him to death, or some such thing, but after about a second, Doom merely said, "To even ask such a question proves that you are not as bright a man as I expected, but so be it. I will answer."

"Look out there." Doom commanded, pointing to a nearby window, and Alan obediently did so. Doom then continued, saying "Latveria is not a very large country, but over five hundred thousand people live in it, and they are happy and fulfilled, protected and made useful by me. Thanks to Doom, they live no longer in oppressive poverty, or unfair workloads. Thanks to Doom, they are safe, so long as they continue to obey my wishes. Thanks to Doom, they never need to feel useless or unhelpful, because each knows that they contribute to a cause greater than themselves, and the vast majority of them believe in that cause. Thanks to Doom, the people of this country live without despair, or hate, or futility. Have you ever seen such a thing anywhere else on Earth? Well? Have you?"

"I admit," Alan replied, "I haven't."

"Precisely." Doom said, leaning forward slightly in his chair as Alan left the window to take his seat again, "The brilliance of Doom has made all this possible. It is a unique and wonderful thing that people can still live in this way anywhere. Now, imagine if everyone on Earth could live in such peace and tranquility..."

As Doom said that, he opened both hands, and held them out in front of his chest, about a foot and a half apart, as if in illustration of what he was talking about; one planetary nation under him.

"People don't just accept that sort of thing overnight." Alan replied with only a moment's hesitation.

"Exactly." Doom said, seeming to feel as if he'd made his point, "That is the answer to your question. That is why I have so many enemies."

"You have plans to rule the planet." Alan noted.

"Ruling a country is not much harder than ruling a town or city, with resources such as mine." Doom explained, "Ruling a planet might be a bit more complicated, but not by much. It is not the ruling that presents a challenge, but the task of finding a way to rise to power."

"So, that's really it?" Alan asked, hardly able to believe it, after all the horrible things he'd heard about that man, "You mean all of your plans for global conquest have been basically... an errand of mercy?"

"An attempted errand of mercy, unfortunately." Doom replied, "I have been routed too often."

"Amazing." Alan muttered, really astonished by the news, "You know, I have to say, I don't really think I'd mind living in a place like Latveria, from what I've seen. Even the guards at the border made you sound like such a monster, but you're not, are you?"

"Only to those who oppose my will." Doom replied, "Like all human beings, I am a mixture of light and dark. However, I have never given of my inner kindness to those who stood in my way, nor showed my wrath to those who look to me humbly as their lord. This, above all else, I think it important for you to understand. My will, like all else about me, is strong, and my ambitions great, but in the end, I'm truly not so different from any other decent man. Others have merely given up on making the world a truly good place to live. I have not, and I never will."

"I understand." Alan admitted, "But this is certainly a lot different from what I was expec..."

Just then, a light began to blink on Doom's left gauntlet, and he looked at Alan in worry, then said, "Excuse me. Pressing matters. Your car is in the main garage. One of my servants will show you the way. You may leave my castle, and my country, whenever you wish, or stay as long as you please; even for the rest of your life, if that is your desire."

Then, Doom opened the door leading into the hallway, and left at a good stride, but as Alan left the room only a few seconds later, he could hear that voice, so gentle during their entire conversation, shouting in anxious enthusiasm.

"Have the fourth sector motors put back into place at once and activate them on my mark! He's a bigger fool than I thought to face me in my own domain! Activate all the traps in sector four and prepare them to retaliate to every move he makes using Adaptation Grid Epsilon!"

Alan had heard enough, however. One of the servants did indeed show him to his car, and he left the castle and the country within three hours, never once looking back.

However, some part of what he'd seen in Latveria truly did have a deeper effect upon Alan, because he never made an entry for Doom in his book about modern and recent dictatorships.

"People only want to hear about the darker side of famous people." he reasoned, "I'm not sure how they'd react to a scoop like this."

* * *

End


	2. Issue 2: Visitors Part 1

Note: This tale takes place before Xavior Institute Neo Issue 1, chronologically, but I'm posting it afterwards to explain things that came before. I just wanted to avoid confusion.

* * *

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 2

"Visitors"

Part 1 of 2

* * *

Video cameras rolled and tape recorders activated as many newspaper photographers took pictures of the man on stage, and the device he had sitting next to him on the table. The man was a mature-looking sort of person with black hair and a bit of gray around his temples, which seemed to indicate middle age, and yet, aside from that, he didn't really appear to be much over thirty; a few years at best. He'd just taken the podium a moment ago, and was about to make his statement. Then the reporters would have a chance to ask their questions.

"The first thing I'd like to do is thank everyone who helped me develop and produce this wonderful prototype." the man said, "There are at least three dozen people who've been completely invaluable to me in the intermediate stages of this dream, and although I don't, regrettably, have time to name them all, you can find the full list of names at the back of the room, if you'd like."

None of the reporters liked. They just wanted the real story; Doctor Richards and the machine itself.

"That having been said," Richards continued, "I think that this machine here will revolutionize space exploration."

As he said that, he held up the device in one hand. It was no bigger than a football, but if it could do what Richards claimed, he'd made no vain or idle statement.

"It resonates on the same frequency as the common electron, creating a gravitational pull of an almost incalculable distance. The hardest part was developing an electron-free barrier that could hold up to its pulses, but now that that's done, this little machine here can attract electrons from whole light years away, and they still maintain their original configuration, even once it's done this. The practical application of this is that using the proper computer, these electrons can create for us visible images of what other planets look like. There's no color, of course, but the electrons are transmitted across space at very close to the speed of light. Using this technology, I'm confident we'll start getting images of any planets or asteroids orbiting Alpha Centauri within eight... eight and a half years at the very most. Yes. Questions."

"Lisa Romaine; Times." one woman said, "I heard somewhere that the electron attractor that you're holding right there could make a very dangerous weapon."

Richards face fell as he heard that, but he was prepared with a reply.

"Yes, it could. If the electron attractor were hooked up to a much larger power supply, it would destroy pretty much everything in front of the scanning beacon, or if the shielding around it were breached, it might destroy everything. Our whole city."

"Isn't that a dangerous sort of tool to use for exploring space?"

"No." Richards replied, "It's only dangerous if it's misused, and I designed this prototype with a microscopic flaw that will destroy it completely if enough electricity is sent through it to make it dangerous."

Next, a male reporter had a question.

"Doctor Richards, if you made this machine with a flaw, you could make a machine without one. How can we be sure someone won't try to turn it into a weapon?"

"Because I won't allow it." Doctor Reed Richards replied, "I'm going to be personally supervising everything that's done with my machine. In fact, the first tests are scheduled for tomorrow night."

Another, younger man spoke up then; "Henry Jan; Breakthrough Journal. If you plan on supervising this device in everything it does, that'll pretty much take up your entire life, from the looks of things."

"Ah." Reed replied, making a motion with his left hand that clearly meant he understood what the man was trying to say, "Actually, this machine already is my entire life. It has been for quite some time. I've been working on, perfecting, refining or dreaming about the formula for this device, or for others that have led up to it, for the past twenty years, and this represents the culmination of all my hardest work. I'll commit whatever time and effort I have to to make sure it's cared for and used properly. Thank you all for your time."

Other reporters had questions, but they weren't going to get answers. Doctor Richards had taken the device with him, because, after all, he wasn't going to let it out of his sight, and he himself had preparations to make for his latest experiment.

* * *

Doctor Richards was out back in his room, removing the tie and jacket he'd worn to give his speech and loosening his collar, when his best friend Ben Grimm appeared. Ben was a taller man with broader shoulders and a larger chin, but he had the same black hair that Reed had, albeit without the gray. The two were roughly the same age, and had first met years ago in college, when they'd been roommates for a while. They were such good friends that they could say pretty much anything to one another without fear of reprisals.

"You sounded like a geek out there, buddy." Ben muttered as Reed, smiling, hung his tie over a coat hanger, tying it around a few times, "I mean all that stuff about electronic attraction totally threw me. I'll bet half the people there didn't have a clue what you were sayin'."

"Yeah, I know. Public speaking was never my forte." Reed replied as he put the jacket on the hanger and covered it with the plastic that had come with the suit, then carried it outside, "I guess I really only expected the science experts to understand."

"So why'd you invite me?" Ben asked, "I mean, you know I'm no science buff like you."

"Besides just the fact that we're friends, you mean?" Reed replied, drawing a nod from Ben.

"Alright." Reed said, "I guess you were probably expecting this, but there is another reason I called you. You see, this device has a limitation I didn't mention to the press. The pulses it sends out are effected by the Earth's gravitational pull, which means I need to somehow get it far enough into the upper stratosphere to send out pulses. That's where you come in."

"Ya lost me at 'this device has a.'" Ben replied. He was trying his hardest to keep up, though, and Reed was willing to be patient with him.

"I need to fly this machine really high up." Richards said as Ben started to get what he was saying, "A height of several thousand feet is preferable, but the best height would be just inside the upper atmosphere."

"So ya called in a pilot friend ya knew." Ben replied with a smile, "I gotta hand it to ya, big brain, ya really know when a gig's right up my alley."

"Good, good." Richards said, "How much would you like in exchange?"

"What, money?"

"They pay that for jobs. Come on, old friend, I know you'd do it for free, but I insist on paying you. How about ten thousand?"

"Half of that, or it's no deal." Ben replied very seriously.

"Seven thousand." Richards countered.

"Six and that's my final offer." Ben said.

"Alright." Richards replied, shaking his old friend's hand, "Six it is, then. I promise you, this is going to be the easiest six grand you've ever made. I've got this new kind of plane that goes straight up when you start her..."

So the two of them got into the car waiting for them outside, making plans for their experiment of the following night.

* * *

On the night they'd chosen, Doctor Richards and Ben Grimm drove up to the plane together and got out of the car to take a closer look.

"This is it, old friend." Reed said, "The J85-7U Supersonic Mobility Plane. We just call it JUMP most of the time, though, because it shoots straight up at launch."

"Doesn't sound like the kinda name you'd give a plane." Ben remarked.

"Well, I wanted to call it to Pogo Plane, but my business partner said it would make the stockholders squeamish if I did." Reed replied.

"Business partner? Stockholders?" Ben asked, "You mean you got corporate backing for all this?"

"Yes, of course." Reed replied, "You can't do revolutionary scientific research without money, Ben. It's unfortunate, and inconvenient at times, but it's the truth."

"So who's your backer?" Ben asked, "Edison? Stark? It's not Fisk, is it? If it's Fisk, don't tell me."

"None of the above, old friend." Richards replied with a smile, "Another good friend of mine, Susan Storm."

"Buddy, you need to watch it with comments like that."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, the press is already spreadin' rumors that you got no interest in ladies. You start calling a hot, rich girl like Suzy a 'good friend,' and it's gonna come back and bite you in the backside."

"That's all we are." Reed assured him, raising both hands, "I mean... I mean even if I was sure I wanted to date her, and I'm not, you understand... I'm so busy, and I... I wouldn't have the time. I don't deserve her."

"Since when has any man ever deserved a woman?" Ben asked, "Your problem is you think about stuff too hard. People ain't like machines, big brain. They're different. Girls tend to go by how they feel most of the time, for one thing. Now, you got nothin' to prove to me 'cause I know you, but you've gotta face it. You're not... Heck, why ignore it? Neither of us is gettin' any younger. If you're ever gonna have a life outside the lab, you need to make the move soon."

"I'm... I'm too busy Ben." Reed replied sadly, "I can't be everywhere at once."

"Yeah, sure. You're a smart guy. You can make those up as fast as you need to." Ben replied, "Now let's take a look in the cockpit so's we can get this show on the road."

* * *

"Is it all set?"

Those were the first words that Reed heard from Sue Storm as he stepped into the lookout tower from which they would watch the launch, and he wasn't at all surprised to see her dressed in a clean business suit, which hardly looked right underneath her long, perfect, blond hair. What really surprised Reed, however, was that Sue had brought a boy with her. Like herself, he was blond and dressed in a suit, although he seemed to be irritated by it, and by the procedure in general.

"Pretty much. I've put Ben through the steps several times already. He knows what to do. Who's your friend?"

"My younger brother Johnny. He owns part of Storm International, so I thought he deserved to see this."

"You thought." Reed remarked, noticing that Johnny was making no effort to disguise the fact that he would rather not have been there at all. However, when he said that, Sue moved over into the far corner of the room, and encouraged Reed to follow her.

"Doctor Richards," Sue said, sounding a little timid as she spoke, "I know you don't have a family of your own, but sometimes they can be very complicated things, particularly if you're trying to manage a large business. My company employs over thirty thousand people worldwide, and that's a lot for one person to manage. Johnny's... irresponsible and a little rash, but I've been trying to get him interested in the company anyway, since I really need his help. Would you mind?"

"Oh." Reed replied, glancing over at the bored-looking teenager who'd accompanied Sue, and then nodded sharply, saying "I'll take care of it."

"Son..." Reed said as he got closer to Johnny, "What we're doing here is basically a scientific experiment. We're going to be doing a fine probe outside of our own solar system. The purpose is mostly to gather information, so it's not going to have any car chases, but if nothing else, no one's ever attempted anything like this before, and I hope that you'll at least recognize how significant that is."

"Huh? Okay. Right." Johnny replied, looking at Reed for only a moment before going back to his previous expression. Clearly, he did not, in fact, recognize the significance of what they were attempting.

"Ben? You ready?" Reed asked into the radio.

"Sure. Let's hit it." Ben replied, and in only a few seconds, the JUMP was shooting skyward, and Reed watched the ascent carefully on the meter designed to tell him exactly how high up in the atmosphere it was traveling.

"One thousand feet." Ben said, "So far, so good. Two thousand. He we go. Three."

The JUMP picked up speed the higher it traveled, and both Ben and Reed were carefully monitoring instruments that showed how far up it was, how fast it was going, and what its trajectory was, which in that case, was a single, flat line, as it was traveling precisely upward, not veering to either side as it moved, regardless of wind currents, weather patterns or gravitational factors; a rare thing in modern aircraft design.

"Six thousand." Ben said, "Eight. Alright, big brain, I'm cutting back on the engines. We have ten thousand feet."

"Yes!" Reed exclaimed enthusiastically, clutching the radio, "Now activate the electron attractor, Ben. It can do the rest."

Ben pushed the large, green button in the center of the console and a small, silver-colored device detached from the JUMP, floating upwards into a safe orbit around planet Earth. For a moment, as it rotated in mid-air, the beam passed over the JUMP, and the monitoring station where Reed and the others were, but the beam was perfectly harmless at that low intensity, and the worst that could happen would be that inhabitants of Alpha Centauri might get sent a few pictures of the four of them at work.

"Alright, Ben. That's done it. Now just bring her home."

Moving quickly and with careful precision, Ben turned off the locks that held the JUMP in its single, upward path and turned it in mid-air. From that point, it operated very much like the ordinary fighter jets he'd piloted when he'd been in the Air Force, so he had no difficulty at all bringing it in for a landing on the lift pad that Reed had designed specifically for the JUMP. The pad could quickly and easily set the entire plane upright again for another launch if need be.

"Excellent job, Ben! Excellent!" Reed exclaimed, approaching the plane, and the pilot who'd just climbed out of it, "I have to hand it to you. That went even more smoothly than I expected it to."

"So what's next?" Ben asked, shaking the hand that Reed had offered him.

"Next?" Reed replied, "Next, we wait for eight and a half years. Then we can start getting images from our closest neighbor."

"That's a long time." Ben remarked, shaking his head.

"Patience is an important tool in interstellar exploration." Reed replied, "Still, I'm sure both of us have other things we can busy ourselves with in the meantime."

"Yeah." Ben said, "I got dinner with Annette tonight. If it goes well, we may schedule another date."

Reed's face fell.

"Don't tell me you're still harping on that." Reed said, "I told you, I wouldn't have the time."

"An' here I thought I wuz bein' subtle." Ben replied with a smile as he accompanied Reed to his office to receive his well-earned paycheck.

* * *

Five hours and ten minutes passed after the machine made orbit and began scanning the stars closest to the earth. It was that long before the electron beacon had flown, not only past Pluto, but further still beyond, and came into contact with something else; something that surrounded the solar system, invisibly set in place to detect anything that tried to leave.

Then, thousands of light years away, closer to galactic central point, a face, shining with the light of all the nearest stars turned attentively towards planet Earth.

"You have found something." A deep, intelligent voice said in an alien tongue.

"Maybe." the first figure replied, "Something has left the Sol System."

"It is not a ship, however."

"No. I will not summon you until I am certain. It is a primitive pulse of energy, I think. For the moment, I will send the probe to investigate. Eranis Three and the Gorma Prime worlds will be sufficient until then, I trust."

"More than sufficient." the voice replied, "But it is best to plan ahead."

"Yes, great one." the figure replied. Then, its hands glowing brightly like tiny stars themselves, the being began to form energy around itself, transforming it into matter; a relatively small machine, no bigger than the figure's fist, but it was technology undreamed-of by Earth's greatest scientists. Swiftly, the infinitely complex machine began absorbing data on its mission from the figure that had created it, and in moments, it was off, traveling in and out of hyperspace on its way towards Sol...

* * *

Well, there had been a short meeting with the press regarding the success of the latest phase of their experiment, but Reed hadn't done any talking. He'd left that to Susan Storm, which was the part of their agreement that he appreciated the most. No more getting up and embarrassing himself in front of the press. Sue Storm was magic when she talked, so it had to be her job from then on whenever reporters had questions about anything her company was funding.

Johnny had been there as well, but he'd at least known enough not to speak until the press meeting was over, and even then, only to his sister.

"Sis, I don't get why you decided to fund this thing, anyway. I mean, it's not gonna see results until Reed applies for social security, and even when it does, it won't really turn any kind of profit, so why bother?"

"People like to see good things being done and good advancements being made." Sue explained to him, "It's good PR to be seen helping starving children in Africa, and for some reason, it's even better PR to be seen backing a pioneering new space age technology. You should see some of the 'forward-thinking' graphics and slogans the add department cooked up over this. Everybody wants to explore space, Johnny, and we're tapping into that desire to make the stockholders happy, for the most part."

"So it's just to make you look like the pioneer instead of Reed?" Johnny asked, drawing a blank look from Sue. However, in only a moment, she replied slowly and softly.

"Huh. Never thought of it that way. No, that's not the only reason, but I guess it's one of the big ones."

Just then, as if in response to Sue's sudden realization, there was an enormous crash from outside, and Reed, Sue and Johnny, as well as many eager reporters all rushed outside to see what it was.

Right outside the tower where Reed had monitored the launch of the electron attractor into orbit, there was a crater of about twelve feet wide. Reed recognized the markings of the crater as those seen most often due to meteor strikes, but there were no remains of the meteor itself, and in high-speed collisions like that, there usually were. What's more, he'd heard nothing about the approaching meteor, and he was one of the most respected astronomers in the world. It was clearly a very small meteor, but still, he should have seen it coming. It seemed to have just appeared, crashed, and then disappeared again, and that worried Reed, because it was so thoroughly unexplained.

"Wait a minute." Reed said as a well-respected microbiologist named Henry Pym began taking dirt samples from the crater, "I need to make some phone calls."

* * *

David Bergman was interrupted in his work by the ringing of the telephone, so he quickly picked it up and answered.

"Yes? Oh, hello Doctor Richards. No, it was alright the last time I checked. Alright. It'll set me back a little, but I'll check again."

David punched some keys into his computer, and soon a blip was seen on the screen.

"No, it's still up there, Doctor Richards. Yeah, I can see the beacon signal from the electron attractor right from where I'm sitting. I don't think so, unless it's an instrument malfunction, and we keep our equipment very well maintained and up to date. Alright. Sure thing. Good-bye."

Then David hung up and went back to work again, but he had to wonder what would make Doctor Reed Richards think that his new experiment had left orbit.

* * *

"Yes? What is it?" General Peter Simon asked as he picked up the phone, "Richards? Yes, we tracked the meteorite as far as we could."

"What do you mean, as far as you could?" Reed asked over the phone.

"I mean," the General replied, "as far as we could. That thing was moving like a bat out of hell. I've never seen anything like it. We tracked it entering our atmosphere and falling close to your tower, but about fifteen seconds after than, we got the alarm from our probes in orbit around Jupiter and Mars."

"Wait a minute." Reed said, "Fifteen seconds AFTER? How is that possible?"

"Well, the science boys in the lab think it was traveling through our solar system faster than the message." Simon replied.

"But those messages travel by electronic broadcast. That's the speed of light. Nothing can go faster than that."

"It's a helluva mystery, isn't it?" Simon said with an amused chuckle, at seeing that the great Doctor Richards was just as puzzled by that as the rest of them.

"Yes. Yes, it certainly is, sir. Good bye."

Then without another word, Reed Richards's mind started pondering things he hadn't thought about for years. That explained why the meteor had approached relatively undetected, but a greater mystery than ever was forming. Whatever that mysterious meteor was... Wherever it was, if it was capable of traveling faster than light, it was certainly a lot more than just a meteor.

* * *

The glowing, green orb slid upwards out of the ground nearly a mile from where it had first landed on Earth, and parts of it to the sides began to slide open, as it floated into the air, several dozen feet from the nearest life form, creating slits in the sides of the machine. From those slits came invisible beacons, scanning the local life-forms, searching for those that matched the images it had picked up from the primitive electron device in orbit. Earth's scanning device had scanned five life-forms, and there were many others nearby as well. Quickly, the beacons covered ten thousand miles, encompassing the entire world, and it located almost instantly the contours of the creatures it was seeking, then dove back into the ground, and minerals began to rise up from underground toward its position, being drawn to it by the energy pulses it was sending out, which reacted like a kind of universal magnetism, to summon forth what it needed.

"Sufficient mass acquired." the computer on board the probe thought to itself, "Dividing attention among life forms intended for research..."

As it thought those things, metal ores began to rise up out of the ground, refining themselves into five new probes, and all were linked together by low-level electronic transmission on a frequency undiscovered by man, so they remained in constant contact as they sped off in new directions, each on the trail of a specific organism, except the first probe. It would do more exploring.

* * *

Sue was very tired. It had been a big day, and although she hadn't made a great deal of money, a lot of people had commented on how much they liked her latest venture, and her company's stock had gone up several points, which was good news. Smiling despite her exhaustion, Sue Storm put on her night gown and climbed into bed, with only one regret about the course the day had taken.

"Subject entering REM sleep." the probe thought as it watched her, "Beginning experimental testing. Subject's heart rate and brain patterns slightly higher than average for this species. Strongest biological trait... Conscious thought frequency similar to that of the transparency energy screen of the universe. Beginning tests to determine how similar this frequency can become over ten thousand years of evolution..."

So gradually, the probe began to use its energy beams to alter Susan Storm, the frequency of her brain's conscious desires refining itself along a new path over the next few minutes. The probe reported back to probe 1, which told it that it should discontinue in five minutes, then revert her to her original biochemical state.

* * *

Johnny Storm had been cruising for most of the evening after the press meeting. He'd met a girl, gone to a few joints, dropped her off and from there, was just driving around in his suit, wishing he didn't have to remember the many hours of boredom he'd endured that day. However, underneath his car, a small, green orb attached itself to the metal without making a sound, so Johnny didn't notice it as the probe began to scan him.

"Subject giving off strong thermal readings. Beginning experimental testing. Subject's heart rate higher than normal for the species. Brain patterns slightly below average. Strongest biological traits... Thermal heat generated by motion of body cells slightly above average... Resistance to oppressive temperatures slightly above average... Total biochemical energy slightly above norms for this age range. Determining how this will impact evolutionary path over the next ten thousand years..."

Then the probe following Johnny Storm continued to experiment on him with its invisible beams as he drove, reporting to, and relying on Probe One to conduct the different phases of the experiment.

* * *

Ben Grimm thanked the waiter for his help, then turned back to face Annette.

"So how did it go today Ben?" Annette asked.

"Real smooth." Ben replied, "Reed's plane and that machine he was working on all went through, just like he said. One of the easiest jobs I've had in months. You?"

"I sort of had a rough day." Annette admitted, drawing a sad, sympathetic look from Ben, "My supervisor... Well, we had a fight, but I think we understand each other now, and it won't happen again. At least not over this same thing."

Ben nodded, then said, "That's rough Annette. I know whenever somethin' like that happens to me, I feel like the whole world's comin' to an end. Is there somethin' I can do to help you with that?"

"Thanks, Ben." Annette replied with a smile, "That's really sweet... But it's alright. I'll be fine. It's just something I have to learn to deal with."

"Yeah, alright." Ben said, "If that's the way you feel about it."

"Subject engaged in vocal conversation with female of the species." the probe remarked as it scanned Ben Grimm with its energy beacons invisibly, "Beginning experimental testing. Subject's heart rate lower than expected norms. Brain patterns both higher and lower than normal on different frequencies, which can be averaged to normal values for this species. Strongest biological traits... Thickly calloused skin due to intense physical training... Muscle and bone strength greater than normal due to same training... Beginning tests to determine what effects this will produce in ten thousand years of evolution."

Then the probe began to alter Ben Grimm's body with its beams, though he didn't notice a difference, at first.

* * *

A probe watched through a solid wall as Doctor Reed Richards typed away at a computer. He still wasn't sure whether he could find the meteor, or even what, precisely, he was looking for, but he was going to keep trying until he fell asleep at the computer terminal. Faster-than-light travel was too good a find to just stop looking for halfway through.

"Subject conducting electronic research." the probe transmitted, "Beginning experimental testing. Subject's heart rate slightly higher than normal. Brain patterns well above normal for this species. Strongest biological traits... Cellular cohesion and elasticity slightly above average... Total cognitive capacity above conventional norms. Beginning tests to determine what effects this will produce in ten thousand years of evolution."

Then the probe set to work on Reed Richards with its energy beams, reporting its progress to Probe One as it proceeded.

* * *

"Subject adhering to solid surface with its hooked legs." the fifth helper-probe said silently in its transmission language, "Great strength, speed and agility, as well as the ability to create and use strong webbing to entrap prey, to adhere to solid surfaces and a variety of advanced senses to alert it to danger. Also detecting liberal reproductive abilities. It seems that this creature's small size is the only reason it has not yet risen to the top of this planet's evolutionary ladder. This creature may be capable of symbiotic functions with other life-forms native to this planet within ten thousand years. Beginning experimental testing."

* * *

Lastly, Probe One began its examination of the most revolutionary technology on planet Earth. For that, it had to travel across half the city, locating the lab of a Doctor Bruce Banner, who was working on a new type of self-perpetuating nuclear reaction.

Probe One watched Bruce and his colleagues monitor the equipment as they turned on the power, and the nuclear reaction began in the chamber across from them.

"Head scientist." Probe One said, passing through a solid wall like a phantom to scan Banner, "Heart rate and brain functions above normal for this species. Curious biochemical ability to adapt to the effects of radiation better and faster than most members of this species. Beginning tests to determine what effects this will produce in ten thousand years of evolution."

However, as Probe One began scanning Banner, tampering with his cells, one of the scientists present made a mistake in his calculations, and radiation spilled forth into the inner chamber. It was noticed immediately and a safety lockdown was initiated, but Banner wasn't sure the precautions would be enough. Gamma radiation was a previously-untested variable, and unless he could stabilize the reaction, the whole city might suffer for his failure.

"Let me handle this!" Bruce shouted, "I can get it to stabilize. You get to the exits and lock this place down from outside!"

"What about you?" Doctor Phillips asked, "If it blows with you still in here, you'll die!"

"If this thing blows," Bruce replied to her sadly, "I may as well be dead. The gamma reactor is my life's work. I'm not just going to let it go, but that's my choice to make. You get to safety. With luck, this whole place will be safe in moments."

As the other doctors headed for the lockdown controls on the outside of the complex, organizing a well-coordinated safety measure, Bruce Banner ran from one control panel to the next as Probe One continued to tamper with his body. As a result, Banner could feel his strength of will and bodily energy growing as the reactor temperature shot up, though he still didn't notice the alien probe, and at the last second, the probe made a decision.

"Continual study of this individual and this technology will not be possible in moments, unless accelerated evolution is attempted."

In seconds, the probe tampered at close to the speed of light with the DNA of Bruce Banner, and in that last moment, every one of his cells began to feed on nuclear radiation like a steak platter at a fine restaurant, and that was when the reactor went critical, and the lab was filled with shrapnel, debris and flying dust and radiation. The probe was hit with one small speck of debris just before it could pass back out through the wall it had entered by, but the speck had damaged vital areas of its light and power mechanisms, and in only a moment, it burst into flames, igniting a nearby wooden and paper sign just outside a restaurant. That, in turn, ignited an awning just over the restaurant, causing patrons to flee it in terror, including one man, who came out last in ratty old clothes, wearing a long beard and long, black hair. People in the neighborhood called him Lefty, because he had the toughest left hook they'd ever seen, but that didn't keep him from getting drenched by a bucket of water that put out the fire on the awning from nearby, as its owner tried to find a place to refill it so that the sign could be extinguished as well.

However, the owner of the water bucket; a man named Clarence Mayfield, saw that much of the water had splashed all over Lefty as well, and rushed forward to apologize.

"Gee, man. I'm sorry. I didn't mean ta... wow. You're soaked. I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there."

"Sorry?" Lefty asked, looking at Clarence for a moment, "Yes... Sorry... Well, if all goes well, you need not be sorry for what you have done here today, but I have many things to attend to."

Then without another word, "Lefty" took to the air, literally flying straight upwards until he was in mid-air above the city, then dove into the sea, heedless of the stunned and flabbergasted looks of the people he was leaving behind.

* * *

The helper-probes had lost contact with Probe One, and the time interval that the experiment was to take had been forgotten. Without Probe One to instruct them, they had no idea when the experiment was to be stopped, so the timer in their own processors continued to go up as they continued to change the cells of their targets in the time remaining.

"Ten thousand years... Fifty thousand... One hundred thousand... Two hundred... Five hundred... One million... Five million... Ten Million..."

The probes continued to expend the power they'd gathered into the single experiment they'd been given until the source of that power seemed to realize that they were broken, and cut it off from them.

Just before each alien probe lost power completely and shut down, a single transmission flashed across each of their silicon minds.

"Twenty-five million years of evolution..."

* * *

Lefty had shaved himself with a special type of vibrating coral found deep underwater, and trimmed his hair carefully in the same way using his reflection on the waves. Then, in only a moment after that, he had discarded the human clothes that he'd worn for so many years, ever since losing his memory, and stood upright in mid-air. Namor; Prince of the Sea. King of Atlantis. The Sub-Mariner.

"I must return to my people." Namor thought aloud, diving down into the waves, "Since my absence has lasted so many years, they will undoubtedly need me."

However, as Namor traveled down into the ocean, fathom after fathom, he saw nothing where Atlantis had once been, and when he landed on the seabed, and looked around for his people; for his kingdom, he couldn't believe his eyes. Atlantis, which a mere century previous had thrived so well and so peacefully lay in ruins; its towers blown to bits from above by massive explosions, its valleys deepened into scarred craters. Everywhere, there was the scent of destroyed structures and decay, and there was no sign of his people.

Namor was a proud man; a man who thrived on respect and admiration, and had gotten his share during the second world war, when the president of the United States, as well as many other prominent world leaders of the time, had awarded him medals as a great hero of war, and for the rest of his life, Namor had been respected as king over all of Atlantis, but the merest disrespect or dishonor could provoke him easily, and as for attacking his homeland while he'd been away...

Namor was not about to take that without a fight.

Rocketing upwards out of the ocean, Namor looked around towards the closest city, and found it to be the one he'd just come from, so he was off like a shot, running his fists through the ocean water as he went to maintain his physical invincibility. He needed to know what inane reason the humans had had for attacking his homeland, and when it had happened, not so that he could be sure he wanted to attack them, but so that he could know what, precisely to accuse them of when the time came.

* * *

There was a man living underground. The man had gone into the underground world years ago, discovering tunnels there, and creatures living underground, away from the sunlight. With his astounding cunning and brilliant genius, he'd earned their trust and loyalty, as he had led the smaller, more intelligent creatures to victory and eventually dominance over the larger, more aggressive ones, changing the underground ecosystem in mere months, and once the underground world had been united under his rule, he began to relax, for a time, until the day when tremors in the earth alerted him to activities going on in the world above. Someone was drawing minerals up from the soil all at once, unbalancing the earth and destroying some of the smaller tunnels that underground creatures had carved into it.

The man living underground wasn't very tall, or very strong, and he was certainly far from being handsome. In fact, it was those things that had led him to retreat underground in the first place. However, he was very powerful, and he intended to lay down the law with the surface-worlders. Leaning on his metallic staff, which also controlled nearly every machine he'd designed since becoming the underground king, the Mole Man stood up, off his well-carved stone seat and pressed a stud on the side of his staff, sending vibrations through the soil of a very specific sort as he walked forward into one of the adjoining tunnels. In moments, a massive beast, closely resembling a giant worm with fangs erupted from the dirt in the tunnels directly underneath him, taking him as its passenger, and was off through the tunnels towards the surface with the speed and force of a freight train...

* * *

No one expected Doctor Bruce Banner to have survived the reactor explosion that had just been heard through the supposedly soundproof lockdown doors of the lab, but then, everyone had expected the lab to become contaminated with radiation after an explosion like that, and according to the instruments they were using, the roentgen count was almost down to nothing after only sealing the lab for five minutes, when normally, it would take thousands of years for the extra radiation to dissipate. At any rate, within ten minutes of the meltdown, the radiation seemed to be completely gone, and the lab doors were unsealed, allowing passage back inside, and apparently, back out.

Doctor Bruce Banner was gasping for breath as he stumbled out of the lab the moment the east door was unsealed. No one could believe it. The man had pretty much just been at the edge of a nuclear meltdown, and yet he was still alive, and showed none of the signs of advanced radiation poisoning that one might normally have after such an ordeal. He had some burns, but none of them were life-threatening.

"I don't get it." Doctor Joyce remarked as Bruce was carried away on a stretcher for further testing, "What kind of person survives a nuclear meltdown right in their face?"

A dozen thoughts and responses raced back and forth through Doctor Phillips' mind, but she didn't voice any of them. She just stood and watched as they took Bruce away, and wondered if she'd ever see him again.

* * *

Reed Richards woke up groggy in the morning. He was lying on the floor of his lab, with his computer still on, so he slowly got back up onto his chair and checked the files he'd been working with. Files still operating, firewall still intact, no viruses detected... Good. Reed felt like falling back on the floor and going back to sleep for a moment, but that was when he realized that someone had turned the lights off. The light switch, he knew, was a short distance away, so he reached over for it from where he was sitting. No good, though. He could feel that if he were only just able to reach a little further, he could get to it, and he didn't feel like getting up, plus, being exhausted as he was, stretching seemed like the right thing to do. Reed reached further and further, stretching out his arm, until something in his arm seemed to come loose, and he found his hand resting on the light switch. Quickly, he turned on the lights in the room, and the whole laboratory echoed with the sound of the scream that followed.

"Energy projection!" Richards exclaimed as his arm, which seemed to have grown to nearly three feet in length to reach the light switch, returned to its normal size and shape, "Holographic illusion! Hypnotic fabrication!"

But Reed Richards knew that what had just happened to him wasn't any of those things, but something far more fantastic, and so, he made a decision, in only a short amount of time, to test that strange ability out even further.

Backing his chair against one side of the lab, Reed Richards moved his arms out in front of him, aiming them towards the far wall; a distance of fifteen feet away, and went through the same motions as before, reaching out with his strength, and before his very eyes, in the bright lab lights, Doctor Richards watched his arms extending outwards, growing longer, and longer, and longer until they touched the far wall. He pushed against the wall with his hands, and found that even stretched out to such an incredible distance, he'd lost none of his strength, as pushing against the wall from fifteen feet away caused his chair to roll back on its casters into the computer desk. Relaxing his muscles, Reed watched in awe as his arms returned to their original size, and muttered to himself "Biological elongation. But how far does this power go?"

"So I'm not the only one." Reed heard a voice from nearby say, but he couldn't pinpoint the voice's owner, so leaning back, marveling at the way his neck extended to look around the corner to the door, he saw Sue Storm's business suit walking towards him on its own.

Only moments before, Reed Richards would have screamed, but he'd done that once already, and was well over it. Instead, he began thinking of ways of explaining it. Ghost? Telekinesis? Animatronics? There was one way to be sure. Reed reached out with his arm for the left cuff of her suit's sleeve and found his hand making contact with another, invisible one.

"Sue?" Reed asked, "Is that you? I... I can't see you. I mean, I can see your outfit, but..."

"No one can see me, Reed." Sue said sadly, though her tears of fear had obviously already been cried. Reed wished, for a moment, that he could have been there to offer her his shoulder when she'd first discovered what had happened.

"What's happened to me, Reed?" Sue asked, worry lining every word, "The stockholders won't listen to me if they can't see me. What's happened to you? What's happened to... to... to us?"

"Don't worry, Sue." Reed said, looking her in what he hoped was her eyes, "I'm going to figure this out. Now, we were both there during the electron attractor test, and we were both at the meteor site just shortly after it vanished. If these things are connected, as I think they might be, there's at least one more person we need to find."

"Johnny." Sue said, prompting a nod from Reed.

"He was in both of those places with us too, and if he's been affected as well, it'll at least explain what the connection is, even if it doesn't tell us the precise cause of this... fantastic change."

"I'll call him." Sue said, pulling out her cell and dialing a number she knew very well by that point. The problem was that she only got a series of beeps when she called. She tried again. Still nothing.

"He's turned his phone off again." Sue remarked angrily, but Reed was staring out the window in shock as he said "I don't think that's what happened. Look, Sue!"

There was a flaming figure leaping through the air, darting this way and that like the images of faeries often seen in storybooks or on old movies, except that it wasn't an image. It was a boy in flames.

Before Sue could react to what she'd just seen, Reed Richards had shoved the computer desk to one side, probably damaging some of the equipment, and opened the window all the way, drawing intense winds into the building, due to the height of the floor they were on.

"Hang onto my legs." Reed said, "I'm going to try something."

Sue felt very, very shy and uncomfortable being asked to hold onto the legs of the most brilliant scientist she knew, but she did what he'd asked her to do, and in a moment, he was stretching his body out into the air, further and further, over buildings and cars, until he found the air getting warmer as he got closer to the flaming teen, and in a few moments, it became uncomfortably hot, and he was still a good four yards from the actual fire. Still, even through the flames, Reed Richards recognized the face of the boy, looking panicked and in desperation.

"Johnny!" Reed exclaimed.

"Reed?" Johnny replied through the fire, "Oh man! You're a doctor, right? Tell me you can cure this!"

"I don't know, son." Reed replied, "We need to find some way to put that fire out first. What have you tried?"

"Everything!" Johnny exclaimed, "Fire extinguisher, stop, drop and roll, I even dove into the ocean once, okay? But I was like this again minutes after I came back out."

"Just like the Human Torch." Reed muttered to himself as he looked at Johnny, then said, "I have another solution. Calm down and go limp."

"Calm down?" Johnny exclaimed, "Are you nuts? I'm on fire! How am I supposed to..."

"You have to find a way, son!" Reed replied, "Do it! I can't help you unless you can help yourself."

Of course, a corny line like that would take all the panic out of any situation, regardless of what some people might tell you, and Johnny soon found himself having an easier time focusing on what he wanted to do. One moment, he was flying through the air in flames, and the next, he began to calm down, closing his eyes and trying to stop himself from thinking about the fire, which was made easier by that fact that he wasn't really feeling all that hot. In a few moments, he started some deep breathing exercises that Sue had tried her hardest to introduce him to a while back, and pretty soon, he found his pulse slowing down, and he was actually getting a little calmer. Then he felt the wind whipping around him and something long and rope-like grab him around the midsection, and pull him through the air. Still, Johnny was afraid that if he opened his eyes, he'd just catch fire again, so he kept them closed until he felt himself deposited on a hard surface, then he heard the sound of a window closing, and Reed Richards saying "Alright. Open your eyes now."

Johnny did, and in only a moment, wished he hadn't. The flames had gone out, but apparently, had burned through all his clothes in the interim, so he was standing amidst the empty suit of his sister and her business partner in his birthday suit. He didn't feel quite agitated enough to burst into flames again, but he was definitely feeling a little embarrassed.

"Here, son. Let me get you a lab coat. Just keep trying to stay calm for the moment." Reed said as he reached for the closet from across the room, opened the door and pulled a coat out, closing it with his elbow. Reed was pleased to note that as he'd been getting used to stretching out his body, it was becoming easier than it had been at first, and so he was smiling when he handed Johnny the coat, then headed for the nearest telephone.

"The first thing we need is a microbiology lab." Reed said, "I want to study our bodies down to the last cell to find out what's causing these changes. If I can do that, I... Sue! Johnny! Look out!"

"Aw, man. Not you too." Came a voice from the shadows in the hallway just outside the lab, as crashing footsteps sounded, and their owner, an enormous, orange monster lumbered into the room. It seemed to be made of orange rocks that covered its body like a type of armor, but its general shape was still vaguely humanoid; two arms, two legs and a head, although its face was stiff and blocky, even when it spoke.

"I figured I could count on you, Reed." the monster said, "I thought you wuz my friend, but I guess... I guess... I don't know what to guess. Nothing like this ever happened to me before..."

"Now, wait a minute." Reed said, noticing that Johnny was only a hair's breadth away from bursting into flame again, and ruining the lab coat that Reed had given him, "Everyone calm down. Now, I don't know who you are, stranger, but it's plain you can understand me and make yourself understood. How about if you just tell us what you want, and we'll see if we can oblige you."

For a moment, understanding seemed to dawn in the monster's eyes, then sadness again as he said "Reed. It's me, Ben."

"Ben?" Reed asked, hardly able to believe it, "But... But you weren't with us during the meteor crash. That must mean..."

For a moment, Reed Richards gathered all the clues together in his mind, and in a flash of insight, all the pieces came together. A faster-than-light object crashing to Earth, the brief scanning of the images of Ben, Reed and the others by the electron attractor, the signals of energy being sent out of the solar system... It all pointed to one conclusion. It was beyond what most people would consider to be possible, but...

"I think this was done to us by an alien intelligence." Reed said, "Ben, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like. You're among friends now, but I have to solve this mystery so I can find a way of suppressing these strange things that are happening to us. As I said, Sue, we need a microbiology lab."

"Ain't we in a lab right now?" Ben asked in his gruffer, rockier voice, that seemed to have come with the new body he'd received.

"Yes," Reed explained, "But this is only a computer and monitoring lab. It's used for data management and archiving, but it doesn't have any machines that would be useful in studying these strange changes."

"I hear ya." Ben replied, understanding at least the last sentence that Reed had just used, "So we need a lab with special machines for runnin' blood tests and stuff on guys like us."

"Essentially, yes." Reed replied, "Can you get us that, Sue?"

"I can get you the best microbiologists in the country, if it'll help." Sue replied, dialing more numbers on her cell.

"Alright." Reed said, then picked up his own desk phone and started dialing, "I'm going to call a friend of mine about this. I think he deserves to know what's going on here."

* * *

The phone rang in General Simon's office, and the meter on it told him that it was from Doctor Reed Richards, but he was in no position to answer it, because he was being held in the air by an extremely strong hand.

"You don't get to go near that telephone until I find out what happened to Atlantis." Namor exclaimed, "I found a man in New York City who directed me to an information contact, and he gave me your name. What did you do to Atlantis, human?"

"I... I did nothing..." the General gasped out in half-choked gasps, "I only started leading this department twenty years ago. The testing was done by General Torn."

Namor dropped the general to the floor and looked down at him, saying "Tell me what happened, or I will assume that General Torn is an alias of yours."

"Torn was one of the first generals to be appointed to this position after the second world war." Simon choked out, "Back then, everybody was worried that somebody was going to start a fresh attack... the Chinese, the Russians, the Japanese, the Germans... it didn't matter who. Everybody was scared of everybody else, so this department started doing bomb tests far enough off the coast that nobody would hear them."

"Your department was testing their bombs on my kingdom!" Namor roared.

"We... we had no idea!" Simon exclaimed, "Back then, nobody knew where Atlantis was! You'd disappeared, and people had to work with what they had! If they'd just contacted us somehow..."

"Well, they didn't," Namor replied, "and now they've vanished. Simon, you will live to see another day, but the day after that may well be the last for all you humans. It won't just end here."

Then Namor knocked over a nearby water cooler with one hand, and moments later, was tearing upwards through masonry, metal and concrete into the air above the military installation he'd just single-handedly demolished. When Simon turned a moment later to look at his desk phone again, the power to it seemed to have gone out.

* * *

"General Simon isn't answering." Reed said as he put down the telephone, "I'm afraid we'll have to fend for ourselves where security is concerned. That's a shame. He's the one person in the government I could have counted on to take me seriously about something like this."

"Well, that's settled, anyway." Sue said, putting the phone back in her pocket, "We're going to have some excellent microbiologists working on this. Dina Morris, Jeffrey Lin, Henry Pym... All of them want to see this."

"Good." Reed replied, "We're going to need all the help we can get in figuring this thing out."

* * *

Bruce Banner had been in bed with tests being run on him for hours and hours before he was allowed to have any visitors, but the first person who insisted on seeing him was Anthony Stark; the person who'd been funding the Gamma Reactor project.

"Bruce." Tony said as he seated himself in a chair across from Bruce's bed, "What happened?"

"Meltdown." Bruce muttered nervously.

"I know it was a meltdown," Tony replied, starting to look a little irritated, "but why?"

"I... I'm not sure." Bruce said sadly, "Operational failure, I guess."

"You mean one of my people made a silly mistake and it cost me millions of dollars in equipment." Tony replied, clearly very angry by that point, though not necessarily with Bruce, "Any idea who that might be?"

"No." Bruce replied, "I was working with dozens of people. It could've been any of them."

"Alright." Tony said, standing up, "I'm going to go look into this. I'm even having a team look over the reactor blueprints."

"You mean you're questioning my theories?" Bruce asked, very afraid by that point.

"The most complex reactor on planet Earth just melted down, Bruce." Tony replied, "I'd say that's grounds enough to question anything, and to be honest, I always did find your theories on gamma rays to be... questionable."

Then without so much as a goodbye, Tony Stark left the room, and Bruce Banner was starting to feel very agitated. That was the first time he heard the voice.

"Stupid human!"

Immediately, Banner sat up in bed, looking around for the source of the voice, but there was no one else in the room. The voice had been deep and gruff, and yet, immature and childlike in a way, like the largest giant speaking with little or no life experiences. As Bruce was just about to lay back down, however, he heard it again.

"Banner lets puny humans tell him what to do! Banner lets them insult him! Banner lets them put him down! Banner is puny!"

Immediately, Bruce got to his feet and stood up, his legs feeling stronger than they had in months, and he stumbled to the bathroom to splash water on his face, but as he looked up at himself in the mirror, what he saw there terrified him to the point of gasping for breath, and he nearly collapsed backward.

It was a monstrous green man with shoulders as broad as Bruce was tall, looking back at him out of the mirror. Bruce felt along his face with his hand, but the man in the mirror didn't.

"A hallucination." Banner concluded, "That's all you are. You're just an image. You have no substance."

"Banner has less substance." the image of the angry-looking green giant replied, "Banner is a puny fool! He lets humans control him!"

"I don't care what you say!" Bruce replied angrily, "This explosion at the lab... it was unavoidable. I... I have a good life. I don't know who you are, but..."

"Banner knows who Hulk is." the man in the mirror interrupted, "Hulk is all that Banner has hidden. Hulk is all that Banner has kept bottled up. Hulk is the rage that Banner had no power to let loose. Sooner or later, Hulk will have his day..."

"Your day?" Bruce asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Set Hulk free, Banner!" the man in the mirror roared, "Hulk can smash all of Banner's enemies! The puny fool who made that mistake, that pompous Stark... Hulk can smash them all!"

"No! They're not my enemies!" Banner exclaimed, glaring into the mirror boldly against the image he'd somehow conjured up.

"Banner is a fool." Hulk repeated, then vanished from the mirror, leaving Bruce looking at his own reflection again, still with no idea what was really going on...

* * *

"Hank!" Janet Van Dyne exclaimed as Henry Pym continued examining the microscope slide he was working with, "Come on! You don't want to miss your appointment with Doctor Richards!"

"Just a moment, Jan!" Henry replied, "I think I've found something here! This might pertain to Doctor Richards' problem!"

Henry Pym then watched in awe through the microscope as the tiny particles of dirt he'd collected the night before began vibrating, seeming to shrink down, or grown larger before his very eyes...

* * *

Several hours later, a great deal of testing had been done in the microbiology lab that Storm International had managed to acquire for the purpose of testing the strange new state that Reed and his friends had suddenly found themselves in. For one thing, it had become obvious that Sue could change back into her visible form, and she'd begun learning how to make parts of herself visible or invisible at will, Of course, Reed suspected that there were aspects to each of their abilities that were still largely undiscovered, but there wasn't, at the moment, as much evidence about their powers as he would have liked.

Sue seemed to have powers related to invisibility, Reed the power to transform the length and shape of his body, and Johnny had the power to emanate intense heat from any part of his body, which burst into flame upon contact with oxygen. Ben... Ben's unusual appearance was a result of his vastly increased strength and durability.

"Hey Reed?" Johnny had asked in between tests, having finally learned how to control his flame with simple impulses, as Reed could control his power, "When you caught me that first time, you said something about a... human torch?"

"Oh, right." Reed had replied, looking at him from across the large, glass chamber they were in, "You're too young to remember this, son, but when I was a boy, people still talked about what things were like during World War Two, and there was a war hero back then, who was an android who gave off intense heat just like you. He called himself the Human Torch, and he was probably one of the most famous American heroes back then. He and Captain America, and... what was that other man... the Submariner. Submariner and the Torch were supposed to have had enormous longevity, though, so I'm surprised we haven't heard from them in years."

"Alright!" Johnny exclaimed, "I'm a war hero! From now on, just call me torch, okay?"

"Knock it off, kid." Ben replied from where he sat on the floor, "We ain't heroes. We're freaks."

For a moment, everyone was silent, but then Johnny sort of muttered, "I could be a hero."

"Since when?" Sue asked from just a couple yards away, her left arm invisible, "You've hardly ever done anything for anybody but yourself, Johnny. Heroes are more than just guys will powers. They help people. Could you do that? Could you go out of your way to help others?"

Johnny was silent for a while longer, looking at the floor, and that was when Henry Pym walked into the room through one of the doors, made mostly of a transparent substance.

"Doctor Pym!" Reed exclaimed, "I didn't see you come in."

"I just got here," Pym replied, "but I think I know what's happened to you and your friends. We've done some extensive examinations on your blood, and as far as anybody here can tell, it's still human blood."

"This look human to you?" Ben asked angrily, raising one rocky fist about the size of a small computer monitor.

"L-let me finish please." Henry continued, saying, "There are definitely biological reasons for these changes, and I could explain every one right now, but I suspect only Doctor Richards would really understand the explanations."

"So what's your explanation for rock man phobia?" Ben demanded, more angry than ever.

"Well, it's not actually rock." Pym explained, "These are a sort of biological callousing hundreds of times more advanced and complex than any other natural, biological armor on Earth, including insect exoskeletons. Your muscle structure has also been improved to hundreds of times its previous abilities. You could probably lift a heavy motor vehicle with your bare hands if you wanted to."

"Yeah..." Ben muttered, scraping his sturdy hands together, "Yeah, lucky me."

For all his sarcasm, though, he'd calmed down and was seating himself back on the floor, looking more depressed than angry.

"But I don't understand how this could happen." Reed said, "You're saying our bodies have been changed, but we're still essentially human. What changed us? Could it change us back?"

"I can answer that too." Pym replied sadly, "Some kind of alien machine landed in that meteor crash site and flew off or something last night. Why it went after you four, I'm not sure. Maybe it got images of you from your new satellite, Doctor Richards, and decided to track you down, but we can't be certain. We were able to find three of the alien machines responsible, however."

"Great!" Ben exclaimed, cheering up at once, "So just have stretch over here tinker with 'em and get 'em to turn us back, right?"

"It's not that simple." Henry replied sadly, "You see, these machines are mostly still in good working order, but they run on a very strange kind of power source, and I've never seen anything like it. We've already tried using electricity, radioactivity, low-level heat energy and mechanical force, as well as a few kinds of energy that were only recently discovered, but none of it seems to be powering those machines up again. Of course, I will certainly give Doctor Richards the devices, if he wants to study them further..."

"Thank you, Doctor Pym," Reed replied, "I think that might be a bit helpful. Is there anything else you can tell us about the technology of these alien beings? We already know they can travel faster than light, or something similar to it, and that they use small, space faring devices that run on a different power source than we're used to. What else can you tell us?"

"Just one thing." Henry responded, "They've mastered the formula for creating micro-particles that act as symbiotic organisms to increase or decrease the size of pre-existing objects. I know because the crater we found last night was full of them, and I've already learned to synthesize them artificially. Pretty soon I may even be able to link them to our own machines and organic nervous systems. I'm afraid it won't help you find your cure, though. This isn't just some physical tampering or some kind of poison or chemical effect. This thing is embedded in your DNA."

"And since DNA is self-replicating," Reed concluded with disappointment in his voice, "there is no way, by our current understanding of science, to undo these changes. I'm very sorry to hear that Doctor."

Then, a moment later, Doctor Pym left the room, and Ben began muttering again.

"Well, that's just fine! That's dandy! I always wanted ta be a big, ugly monster fer the rest of my life!"

"I wish it could have happened to anyone else, Ben." Reed replied sadly, "I'd take your curse upon me if it would help, and give you my powers in exchange."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know ya would buddy." Ben replied, starting to calm down again, "Ya didn't ask fer this ta happen to me. Ya couldn't have known... I know that."

"It has to be horrible for you, Ben." Sue said sadly as she looked into his eyes, her hands turning invisible as she did so, "I mean, you were dating Annette, right? Thinking about what she'll say when she sees you like this... It must be awful."

"That's old news, Miss Storm." Ben said, looking back at her just as sadly, "She was there when this happened. She saw me turnin' into... into this thing!"

"So..." Reed said, hesitating for only a moment, "What did she say?"

Ben looked sadly at Reed before opening his mouth again...

* * *

To be Continued...


	3. Issue 3: Visitors Part 2

Note: This tale takes place before Xavier Institute Neo Issue 1, chronologically, but I'm posting it afterwards to explain things that came before. Just wanted to avoid confusion.

* * *

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 3

"Visitors"

Part 2 of 2

* * *

Reed Richards smiled as he fitted a dial into place on its connecting knob and attached it with a quick twist. It was the finishing touch on the console he'd been working on for a new type of device intended to provide a better analysis of the inner workings of the alien machines that had been discovered by Henry Pym and the others, and thanks to several brilliant realizations he'd had just recently and the virtually limitless reach of his arms, Doctor Reed Richards had managed to assemble it in only a few minutes, and he was entirely confident that it would work, when attached to the machine he'd built it for. He could picture every function of the device in his head.

It had only been about six hours since they'd received the bad news from the scientists that Sue had gotten together for them, but Reed had seen the desperation in the eyes of his best friend, and that had been enough. He wasn't just going to give up, and he'd started thinking of ideas at once. Plans, machines... He'd never in his life had such an easy time coming up with ideas for new machines, and he intended to make full use of that to help Ben Grimm regain his humanity, or at least, a roughly-human appearance.

However, as often happens when people are trying to do something good to help someone else, there was an interruption, and that interruption came in the form of a massive tremor that shook the entire lab Reed was using.

"Ben?" Reed asked, but Ben wasn't there. He was off somewhere else, probably either still in the other lab, or else downstairs. Wherever he was, he must have heard that noise, but there was a strong possibility that it had been an explosion of some kind.

Quickly, Reed checked the alien devices, but they were all still perfectly dormant. The explosion hadn't come from them. Then he looked out the window, stretching his neck around the edges of the building until he spotted what was clearly the source of the commotion.

An enormous, worm-like thing had emerged from the ground in the middle of one of the main roads of New York, tearing up concrete and masonry and throwing cars into the air, not to mention probably destroying most of the subway system in that area. Immediately, Reed dropped what he was doing and reached one leg out the window, instinctively stretching it downward.

Although he was on the twelfth floor, Reed Richards' foot reached the ground in only a few seconds, giving him time to bring his other foot through the window as well, and close it behind him, then walk with steps that were nearly a quarter mile in length to the scene. Three cars were falling towards the formerly-busy traffic, which had become a jumble as a small man dismounted from the worm. Thinking quickly, Doctor Richards wrapped his ankles around telephone poles on either side of the street, and his arms reached around the tops of nearby buildings. In that position, he found that he was spread out like a massive tarp over the cars below, as three short bumps impacted with his back, but he barely felt them at all.

Soon, the three cars that had been flying through the air slid down him, and back to the ground in an upside-down position, their hoods sending sparks flying as they scraped along the ground, so Doctor Richards untangled himself from the surrounding structures, and started helping people to get out of the overturned vehicles as the small man that had been riding the worm approached him.

He was a very odd-looking sort of man, wearing a purple visor that nearly completely covered his eyes, and a long, purple cloak on his back. Aside from that, he was dressed mostly in green with large, clumsy-looking boots. He had one of the largest noses and most crooked jaws that Doctor Richards had ever seen, and he carried a long staff made of metal with short, thin buttons positioned along it.

"I need to speak to your leaders!" the man exclaimed, "Someone has disturbed the earth beneath this city, and that is unacceptable!"

"Wait a minute!" Reed exclaimed, "Don't you care about the people that this monster almost killed?"

"Watch your tongue!" the little man exclaimed, "This creature is named Undra, and it is among my most faithful companions. As far as the people of the surface world, my concerns are for my own kingdom, which you surface-dwellers have trespassed into!"

"Kingdom? Surface-dwellers?" Richards exclaimed, infuriated by that point, "I don't know who you think you are, but you can't just..."

"I am the Mole Man!" the small man exclaimed, even more furious, "I am lord and savior of Subterra, and if you will not tell me the location of your leaders, then you are of no further use to me!"

With those words, the small man tapped a button on his staff, and clapped it on the ground with a sharp, cracking noise. In moments more, there was another trembling noise in the earth, and Richards knew he'd made a mistake.

Spinning around, Reed Richards increased the length of all four of his limbs, to get everyone's attention and exclaimed, "Everyone, run! Get out of here, before it's..."

* * *

Johnny had burst into flames and started making humungous leaps towards the scene of the crash the moment it had happened, but Ben and Sue had needed to follow on foot. After it had become apparent that Ben wouldn't have fit into a conventional car, they knew they had to run to the scene, and Sue had decided to accompany Ben, mostly to keep him from feeling alone and abandoned.

However, not even Johnny had been able to get to the scene before another crash was heard from the same location, that one several times louder, and that was when Johnny found himself burning even hotter and traveling through the air even faster. The thought of being able to use his flame as some kind of jet propulsion hadn't occurred to him before, but it seemed very possible then, and as soon as the idea occurred to him, he started practicing with it, and was soon traveling so quickly that he nearly overshot the place he was trying to reach.

When Johnny did finally arrive, however, it became immediately obvious what had made all the noise. An enormous, hundred-foot, green monster with spikes all over its body was stomping down the street, and people were leaving their cars where they were in their hurry to get away from it.

"Oboy." Johnny muttered as he saw a small figure trying to wrestle with the huge creature using its long, stretched-out limbs, but Reed's strength wasn't enough to even slow the creature down as it continued to stomp forward, crushing evacuated cars as it went.

"Alright, big guy. I don't know what kind of powers I've got, but you're gonna get 'em full blast!" Johnny exclaimed rushing forward through mid-air and firing a massive blast of flame from his hands at the beast. The fire hit the creature full in the face, putting burns all over its rough, sharp-edged exoskeleton, and driving it back in pain, but Johnny had also been thrown back by the thrust. Just as firing flame out behind him had propelled him forth like a rocket, so firing it out in front of him had sent him flying unintentionally backward into a building behind him, where his flaming body melted concrete and metal as it plunged into the middle of a swiftly-emptying office building, and Johnny lapsed into unconsciousness.

At that moment, however, Ben and Sue arrived, turning the corner to see the huge monster with burns all over its face that Reed was still struggling to restrain.

"Aw, you're kiddin' me." Ben muttered when he saw it struggling to get to its feet, half its face burnt to a cinder.

Reed had seen Johnny approach and attack from the air, but at the time, his face had been pinned under one of the creature's arms, but when Sue and Ben approached, he carefully stretched his neck outward to speak to them.

"Ben! Sue! I need your help! This monster's a huge threat, but it was summoned by that little man behind it. If you can get his staff away from him, give it to me. I might be able to use it to get rid of this monster!"

"Great. How am I supposed to..." Sue muttered, but then she saw what Reed was talking about and sighed.

"If only I could make my clothes invisible too..." she began, but immediately wished she hadn't, as every article of clothing she was wearing began to acquire transparency right in front of Ben and Reed. Quickly, she wished it back to normal, and then muttered, "Alright. Me AND my clothes. My clothes and me... Invisible."

Then just like that, she was gone.

"I need your help too, Ben." Reed continued, a little shaken by Sue's accidental feat, "We need some way to keep this creature contained, and I need you to use your strength. Keep it busy."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. Business as usual." Ben muttered, advancing on the monster as it clambered back to its feet.

Quickly, Ben grabbed the bottom of a nearby van in one hand and was surprised to find it rising effortlessly into the air in his grip. Then, with a swift motion, he threw the vehicle directly at the creature's charred face. Even a monster as large as that felt the sharp impact of the metal on its head, and collapsed back to the ground as Sue drew closer to the Mole Man in her invisible form. At first, he seemed to be watching the battle with intense interest, but as soon as she got within three feet of his staff, he ducked, and his staff shot out, catching her in the chest. Then the other end whipped around and struck her in the face. She was on the ground and visible again in moments.

"That'll do you no good." the small man said, "In addition to being lord of Subterra, I, the Mole Man, am also the word's finest master of the art of Bojutsu; staff combat."

"But how could you see me when I was invisible?" Sue exclaimed, gasping for breath.

"See you?" the Mole Man asked, "In the darkness of my underground realm, sight is an impediment. I rely on my other senses to alert me to potential dangers. Whether I could see you or not, the sound of your footfalls, the brush of your pant legs together, and most especially, woman..." he said, tapping his nose with his left forefinger, "the smell of your perfume was unmistakable. I'm sure you'll think twice before assaulting me again."

"My friends are fighting for their lives!" Sue exclaimed angrily at the small man, "I have to save them!"

"Your friends have angered me, and they have not answered my demands." the Mole Man replied, "I bare you no further malice for what you have done, but I WILL speak with your leaders. The ground in this area has been much disturbed by you surface-dwellers, and I will find the one responsible for that."

"Lots of people dig through the ground in this city." Sue objected, "But you've never bothered them."

"For the first few dozen yards," the Mole Man replied, "I truly don't care, but everything beneath that is my domain! That is the location of Subterra, home of the people who I am ruler to, and when you surface-dwellers remove minerals from our soil, that is a matter of international trespassing. That is an invasion!"

"There hasn't been any tunneling done below the subway system recently," Sue replied, growing truly curious, "and people don't have the technology to remove natural minerals through any other means."

However, it seemed that Sue's words had made an impact on the small man, because a look of astonishment was starting to spread across his face.

"If what you say is true..." the Mole Man replied, "you are not the ones I seek."

With those words, the Mole Man clapped his staff on the ground again, and the monster stopped right where it was. The moment it stopped moving, Ben slugged it in the ankle as hard as he could, causing it to roar and topple backwards, falling back into the hole it had first emerged from.

"Ya want the stick now, big guy?" Ben asked, turning to look at Reed, "It's yours fer the takin'!"

"No, you savages!" the Mole Man exclaimed, "I'll fight you no more today. You have proven yourselves powerful fighters, but I still do not fear you, and the moment you try to attack me again, you'll all discover why. If you value the safety of this section of the city, you will all allow me to return to my investigation unmolested."

With those words, the Mole Man climbed back onto the enormous worm-beast he'd first appeared on, and it spun around in only a few seconds, returning back down the tunnel it had come through.

"What's up, stretch?" Ben asked, "He's gettin' away!"

"Yes, Ben." Reed replied, "That's true, but I'm afraid it would be a mistake to challenge the Mole Man at this point. Not only would doing so do a lot of unnecessary damage to this section of the city, but it's entirely possible that he has the power needed to finish us off if he chooses. He's already summoned two monsters from deep underground, which clearly indicates that we know almost nothing about him or his realm, which he called Subterra. Until we know more about him, trying to bring him to justice for the destruction he caused today would be foolhardy."

"Yeah. Maybe." Ben replied hesitantly, "But arrogant guys like that really get under my... gravel, I guess."

"Actually, I did find out a few things about him." Sue said, reappearing before them slowly, to be sure that her clothes reappeared first, "For one thing, he's blind, but uses his other senses to compensate, and he's mastered some kind of martial art with that staff of his. But what's more important is what he told me he was looking for. He said that a short time ago, someone drew minerals out of his realm. As far as I know, the technology to selectively attract minerals through soil from large distances away doesn't exist yet..."

"At least" Reed noted, "not in our human civilization. It has to have been one of the alien machines. Maybe it was trying to build something... Or maybe it succeeded. It's even possible that some of the machines we found were constructed after the alien devices first arrived."

"Hate to interrupt the science lecture" Ben said, "but maybe you oughtta check to see if flame-head is okay."

"Johnny?" Reed asked, "Me? Why should I be the one to..."

"Cause you can get all the way up there in one of them high-pocket steps of yours." Ben replied, pointing to the smoking hole in the side of the building that Johnny had crashed into.

"Ah. Yes..." Reed replied, a little ashamed that that particular fact had escaped him, but he'd been so obsessed with finding the secret of the alien probe for a number of reasons that he had, for a moment, forgotten what really mattered. He mattered, and the probe mattered, but what really mattered was the safety of his friends.

Quickly, Reed arrived at the hole in the skyscraper, and reached inside to retrieve the nude, unconscious boy, wrapping him up to the neck in his own arms as he carried him, in six steps, back to his lab, then after checking Johnny's pulse and temples to be sure that he was mostly just exhausted, Reed returned to Ben and Sue's position in five more steps to arrange another meeting between the four of them.

* * *

Johnny found himself on a lab table when he woke up, but at the very least, the table was covered with a blanket, and another blanket covered his body, which he could tell was completely naked otherwise. That always happened whenever he turned his flame on.

Carefully wrapping the top blanket around himself, Johnny got to his feet and climbed off the table to head into the next room. He recognized both of the rooms as being in Reed's lab, so he looked around for his long-armed benefactor, but it wasn't long before Reed heard his footsteps and shouted to him from the far end of the next room "There are clothes in the closet. Six sets, if you need them."

"Thanks Reed." Johnny replied, opening the closet door and selecting a rather nice-looking pair of blue pants and a green shirt, "You know, I think I'm getting the hang of this. So, did I just dream up that big monster or something?"

"No. No, it was real, son." Reed replied.

"So did I win?"

"Well, you helped. Alright, you helped a lot. We beat the monster together. All four of us."

"Hey, that's great!" Johnny replied with a smile as he stepped, barefoot around the corner into the next room, "You know, I'll bet with some practice, we could become real super-heroes, just like those World War Two guys you were talking about."

"I'm hopin' I ain't gonna have the time to practice that hard." Ben replied from one corner of the room, where his rough, rocky shape was unmistakable.

"Oh... Yeah, that." Johnny muttered. He knew the transformation had been hard and unfair for Ben, even more than for he himself. He could at least turn back to normal when he needed to. For a moment, Johnny tried to imagine what it would be like to be stuck in flame-on-mode all the time. He wouldn't even be able to touch his two favorite things in the world; fast cars and beautiful girls. The thought made him shudder, so he pushed it aside, but it did give him a slightly better appreciation of what Ben must have been going through.

That was about when Sue came out of the bathroom nearby with a relieved look on her face.

"Okay." she said, "I can turn other things and people invisible too; not just myself, and I can control it pretty well now. Reed, are you still working on that alien machine?"

"Yes..." Reed replied slowly, "Well, no. I don't want to try taking it apart until I understand exactly how it works, or I might not be able to put it back together, and we'd lose a chance at turning Ben back to normal."

"So what's that you're workin' on?" Ben asked.

"Well, it's a new type of sub-molecular analysis scanner." Reed replied. "Basically, it's a machine to try to figure out just what exactly this thing is."

As Reed said that, he pointed to the alien probe and Ben nodded understandingly.

"Good." he said, "Sounds like you're on the right track. I'm gonna go get some air."

Then Ben stomped off down the hall, heading towards the stairs leading to the ground floor.

"That was a disaster." Sue said, folding her arms as she looked at Reed sideways.

"I know, but at least the Mole Man left in the end." Reed replied.

"No. I mean Ben!" Sue exclaimed, "He's acting like just because you were accidentally involved in the incident that transformed us all, your life has to consist entirely of attempts to turn him back, and you haven't even told him otherwise yet."

"It's still too soon, Sue." Reed replied, "This isn't just a cut or a bruise. His whole life's been taken away. I won't let him take mine away, but this matter deserves a few weeks of my undivided attention, at the very least."

"Besides," Reed continued, "Ben Grimm's desire to return to normal isn't the only reason I have for studying this machine. It's alien technology, Sue, and it has capabilities we can barely fathom, much less duplicate. Whoever sent it would definitely have the high ground if it ever came to war."

"Are you trying to tell me this probe is a matter of national security?" Sue asked, flabbergasted.

"At the moment, no," Reed replied sternly, "but only because it's dormant. If a machine is able to alter living cells, it can give people incurable diseases or twist metal into unfixable contortions, and that makes it potentially the most dangerous machine on planet Earth. We owe it to mankind, and to ourselves, to study it until we've unearthed as many secrets from it as we possibly can; not just to Benjamin J. Grimm. Besides, I know you care about him too."

"Plus you can't really blame the guy." Johnny replied, "It wasn't too long ago none of us could control our powers, and I know you both felt a little weirded out when it happened to you. Turning invisible or stretching out or bursting into flame. That one would've been a real killer if I couldn't turn it off."

Reed stopped his work when Johnny said that, and gave Sue an amused look, then after enduring it for only a few seconds, Sue threw both hands up in defeat.

"Alright." she said, "If it's obvious to Johnny, then yes. I understand Ben's point of view in all this, but I don't want this thing to just keep going on, is all I'm saying. You deserve a life, Reed."

"Science..." Reed began, but stopped himself. As readily as he'd said it to reporters just a day before, how could he look Susan Storm in the eye and tell her that science was his life? She herself was everything he wanted in his own life and didn't have. He could deny that to others, but to her?

So Reed Richards left the sentence unfinished, and returned to his work, still sure it was what he had to do for the moment, but no longer as convinced as he'd once been that science was all he wanted.

Johnny looked like he was about to say something else, but eventually decided it wasn't worth it, and moved off into an adjoining room, which contained a table, a few chairs, a water cooler and a television. Clearly, it was intended as a staff break room of sorts, although at the moment, just about any room intended for anything would have been sufficient for Johnny's purposes. He just wanted to unwind from the very weird day he was having and watch some nice, normal, mind-numbing teevee.

Pushing the power button on the television, Johnny at first landed on news. Boring stuff, the news, so Johnny was about to switch it, until he saw that the building the newsmen were looking at was the one he was in! As Johnny watched in awe, he heard the news reporter speaking about the building and smiled when he heard her words.

"...the four individuals responsible for driving the creature back underground. No word yet on what caused the attack or if there are likely to be more, but we hope to get an interview with our mysterious saviors soon to see if they can shed some light on the..."

"Beat it, you crumby parasites!" came the booming voice of Ben Grimm as he stepped out the door and waded through the mob of overeager reporters. Johnny put his face in his hands; half in laughter, and half in shame for a moment when he heard Ben shouting at the reporters, then rushed quickly into the other room, where Reed and Sue were. Reed was still working, and Sue seemed to not be sure what to do next, but that, Johnny decided, took precedence.

"Hey, guys!" Johnny exclaimed enthusiastically, "There's a whole mob of reporters and cameramen waiting for us to come out and explain the Mole Man to 'em. Want to do the honors?"

Reed looked up, clearly surprised one moment, yet sure at the same time that he shouldn't have been.

"Yes..." Reed replied, "Yes, I suppose we do owe them an explanation. We did cause a great deal of damage when we were fighting that thing, and I am partly to blame."

Quickly, Reed Richards walked over to the window and opened it, then stepped outside, his legs reaching the ground almost at once, just as they had before, and he decided to try something new at that point, stretching his hands out in all three dimensions. He could feel spaces forming inside his hands as they expanded, changing in size and adapting in balance until he was sure they could support the weight of Sue and Johnny, and invited them to climb on. Then, just a moment later, he was descending slowly to the ground, let the other two climb off the ends of his fingers, and returned his whole body to its original shape, marveling at how much simpler the whole thing had become since he'd first discovered his abilities.

"There he is!" one of the reporters exclaimed with great enthusiasm, "There's the stretchy guy!"

Soon, the reporters were surrounding all three of them, and it was all Johnny could do to keep from bursting into flame again, and incinerating several of them accidentally.

"Please! Please! Everyone stand back!" Doctor Richards exclaimed, "I'll answer your questions if you'll just stay calm and ask them in an orderly manner."

When he said that, the reporters began to back away, recognizing that it was their one chance to get a few decent facts from that strange, powerful man. Many of them, indeed, most, didn't read science journals, and so had no knowledge whatsoever of Doctor Reed Richards, and almost as little of his friends.

"Now, my name is Doctor Reed Richards, and this is Susan Storm and Johnny Storm. Our friend, the orange-skinned man who left this building just a short while ago is Benjamin Grimm. As near as we've been able to figure, our bodies were changed by a strange, alien device that broke down on our planet not long ago, after giving us these fantastic abilities. We've been trying to study it, to learn if the effects are permanent or not..."

"What was that monster you were fighting with this afternoon?" one reporter asked.

"We're not exactly sure." Reed replied, "It was some type of previously-undocumented subterranean life form. It was called to the surface of the Earth by someone calling himself 'the Mole Man.'"

"Will there be any other attacks?" a red-haired, female reporter asked, but Doctor Richards shook his head, "From what I've seen, the Mole Man is a very unpredictable person, but at the moment, there doesn't seem to be any imminent threat."

"What can you tell us about the Mole Man and his monster?" a black-haired female reporter asked, far more calmly.

"Well, the monster was injured, at the very least, when we knocked it underground." Reed replied. "The Mole Man himself is definitely a human, but it seems he's been living in, and ruling an underground kingdom called Subterra, which he sees as his sovereign territory. Anything below the first few dozen yards of the earth's crust, and above the magma flows seems like a possible location for Subterra, but we're not sure exactly where it is at the moment."

"What about the four of you?" a blond, male reporter asked, "Will the four of you be working together if something like this happens again? You, Sue, Johnny and... that orange thing?"

"His name is Ben, and there has been some discussion about that..." Reed replied, "We're all sort of hoping we can find a way to turn Ben normal again, but we're not sure how long we'll be working together... I'd be very eager to work with all three of them, of course. They're all good friends of mine, and I trust them, but as far as risking our lives again..."

"Yeah! I'm in!" Johnny exclaimed, "If there's adventures out there, you can count on me; the new Human Torch!"

"I'm not letting the two of you out of my sight for a moment." Sue insisted, half-jokingly.

"So is this your way of saying you're going to be a team of superheroes?" another reporter asked.

"No! No, it's not like that!" Reed tried to explain, "We're just some ordinary people who've had some fantastic things happen to them, and..."

"Then maybe we should be calling you Mister Fantastic." another reporter quipped to chuckles from the others.

"No, I..." Reed started, but then, he saw Ben pushing his way through the crowd of reporters, looking rather downcast and defeated, but determined.

"Give it up, Reed." Ben said as he got closer, "That alien doohickey may have turned me into a freak, but nobody said I couldn't be a hero too."

As Ben said that, and held out his hand to position it over Johnny's, Reed smiled, putting his hand on top of theirs.

"You're right, old friend." Reed replied, "Let's really give these people something to see."

Then Sue put her hand down over Reed's, and it was photo-op time. With the four of them all standing together, joining hands for the very first time, and waving enthusiastically a second later, it was bound to be all over the papers the following day above headlines reading "The Invisible Woman, The Human Torch, Mister Fantastic, The Thing. Birth of the Fantastic Four."

* * *

Namor's sharp eyes scanned the ocean floor among the rubble and broken structures, until he found what he'd been looking for, and carefully removed the crumbling pieces of construction material from on top of it, to retrieve the ancient bracers from underneath what had been, half a century earlier, his throne.

"This is it." Namor replied, clamping the bracers over his arms, "With these weapons, mankind meets its final end."

* * *

"What's going on here?" Bruce Banner exclaimed in alarm as he watched several men moving pieces of equipment with which he was quite familiar by that point. They belonged to the reactor he'd been trying to build.

"We're moving this equipment to the London labs." a woman who Bruce knew as Patricia Lewis said from close by, as she oversaw the entire operation.

"Why are you doing this?" Bruce asked, "Stark knows I can't go to London. Everyone I know is here!"

"Anthony Stark has decided that the experts in the London labs will be better able to translate your formulas into a working prototype." Patricia replied in a tone that was probably meant to sound professional, but came out as simply cold.

"But this is my experiment!" Bruce replied angrily.

"Correction." Patricia said, that time intentionally-coldly, "This experiment is a venture funded by Stark Enterprises. Your participation was assured under contract, and now that that obligation is fulfilled, your help is no longer required."

"Tony told me I'd be there to see it!" Bruce exclaimed.

"Well, you probably should have gotten that in writing." Patricia replied as she turned and left, leaving Doctor Banner to stew in his disappointment.

* * *

Anthony Stark smiled as he put the paper down and straightened his tie. It was interesting to hear about the success of Reed Richards. He was one of those scientists who, in other times, might have been called mad; a man whose sheer skill and ingenuity afforded him success in his field without aid from corporations, politicians or the military; a rare man.

As such, men like him were perhaps the sole thorn in Tony Stark's side. He was totally different from the Bruce Banner type, who was happy with presenting unfinished ideas to the world without being sure if they'd work. Fortunes were made and broken on people like Banner, but Richards had been developing revolutionary scientific theories and selling patents practically since he was in high school. That kind of skill deserved admiration, whether he turned out to be a friend or an enemy.

Stark took one last look in the nearest mirror to make sure his hair and mustache looked just right, before stepping out on stage to give his speech to the assorted paparazzi gathered there.

"I'm glad to see you all came." Tony said into the microphone with a smile, "Stark Enterprises is a big company, and we do business on a very large, worldwide scale, in making and trading in advanced technology. At Stark Enterprises, we believe that science and technology are the key to mankind's future, but there are some things mankind can't live without, regardless of the technology he has. Food and housing are among them. That's why tonight, I am donating a sum of five million dollars to your charity, to help provide housing and food for those who have not been afforded the opportunities we sometimes take for granted; the opportunity to make a good living with hard work and honesty alone. I hope that someday in the future, we will invent a means of protecting the less fortunate from the societal limitations and unfortunate circumstances that entrap them in inescapable poverty; a poverty that we alone can alleviate. Thank you for your time."

The speech was taken moderately well by most of the reporters there, but there was one person there, hidden in the adjoining hallway, who took it absolutely horribly, and each word felt like another nail being driven into him.

"You hypocrite! You miserable, lying hypocrite! Tony Stark, you betrayed... what?"

Suddenly, Doctor Bruce Banner looked down, and saw in horror that his hands were growing larger, his arms and legs longer and thicker, and his shoulders broader, tearing through even the loose lab coat and pants he was wearing. Quickly, he grabbed a spare tablecloth from underneath a nearby end table where they were stored, and tied it around his waist, but by that time, even his shoes and socks had burst open, revealing feet larger than DVD players. His whole body was turning green as he watched in horror, but his rage was still greater than his fear, and in moments, he blacked out...

* * *

When Bruce Banner woke up, he found himself in an alleyway, still partly covered by the tablecloth, but no longer swollen or discolored, much to his relief. However, in a moment, someone walked by the alley he was in, and tossed a newspaper in the garbage can that blocked Bruce from their view. Out of the corner of that newspaper's top headline, one word caught Bruce's eye. Stark.

Quickly, Bruce grabbed for the paper and read the headline, right above a picture of a wrecked banquet hall. Tables and chairs had been crushed, people had been injured and rubble was everywhere, but the most significant change was in the headline itself. There, on the front page of the Daily Bugle, were the words "Tony Stark injured by Enormous, Green Menace."

Suddenly in a panic, Bruce searched through the article to find the description he'd been dreading.

"...an eight-foot giant with muscles roughly the size of snow tires began to smash walls apart with his bare fists. Witnesses report the enormous man as having green skill, though it may have merely been painted green. During the furious man's rampage, visiting corporate giant Anthony Stark was badly injured when a collapsing ceiling caused a piece of metal to become lodged in his heart. He is currently at New York City General in the best of care, but his condition is confirmed to be critical."

Bruce threw the paper on the ground in disgust, but immediately wished he hadn't as he saw the image of the Hulk staring back out of the garbage can's reflective surface at him.

"You should free Hulk more often, Banner. Hulk makes things happen!"

"You did this, didn't you?" Banner demanded, accusingly, holding up the paper at him.

"Hulk can do much more!" Hulk replied, "He can smash all of Banner's enemies. Hulk is the strongest one there is!"

"No! Shut up!" Banner exclaimed, though he was careful not to get himself too angry as he shouted at the trash can, "Never again, do you hear me? Never!"

"Banner set Hulk free once. He'll do it again." Hulk merely said as Doctor Bruce Banner ran for home, clutching the tablecloth with one hand, and more terrified than he'd ever been.

* * *

Tony Stark lay in bed, unable to move his neck or arms. He probably could have moved any part of his body if he'd really wanted to, but the doctors had said that it would cost him his life if he did, so he remained perfectly still. He was only human, after all, and he wanted to live, just like everyone else.

A piece of metal shoved through his heart by some rampaging monster. It wasn't very glamorous, but it was certainly an awkward way to die, and Tony Stark did have some appreciation for awkward things. At the very least, it wasn't like old age, or a heart attack, or a car crash, or lung cancer. It was something abnormal.

"But why" he thought silently "couldn't it have happened to me forty years from now?"

The doctors had told him that he didn't have a prayer. They'd told him they had no method that could fix that kind of problem, and that if he was still alive in a week, it would be a genuine miracle. Still, Tony Stark wasn't the sort of man to just give up because something was hard, or had never been done before. He'd made his living on designing and manufacturing revolutionary technology. If only he could...

Just then, a thought flashed across Anthony Stark's mind; a memory of a proposal brought to his attention when he'd been shown some new tourniquet designs by his top scientists and directors for testing and manufacturing estimates; something to do with hearts...

"Don't you see? Using this new technology, a person's heart could be kept alive indefinitely, even if it no longer had the strength to beat on its own. A series of micro-motors could pump blood through the heart and through every vein in the body, in the same way a real heart does. It'd be expensive, and it'd have to be recharged every so often, but..."

Stark had dismissed the idea at first, because only a few people could have ever afforded the procedure, but... But from what he understood of the problem, it was the only thing that might save his life.

Quickly, Tony Stark shouted for the nurse, and she was at his side in only a moment.

"Nurse, I need you to get the doctors together, and call my secretary; Miss Violet. She'll have asked about me already. I need her to find a man named Doctor Bruce Banner..."

* * *

Bruce had only been at home for a few minutes when his phone rang, and he quickly picked it up as he rushed to dress in actual pants and a shirt.

"Bruce? Bruce, is that you?" came the voice over the phone.

"Tina?" Bruce asked, "Yes, it's me, I just... I'm just getting dressed."

"Bruce, I've been trying to get hold of you for the last three hours. Tony's really messed up, and he needs your help."

"MY help?" Bruce asked with surprise, "What does he need MY help for?"

"Tony said you proposed some new heart surgery machine to him once that he thinks might save his life in this instance."

Bruce froze for a moment, carefully recalling the proposals he'd made in the past, until he remembered the one in question.

"You mean the motorized heart-aide device?"

"Probably."

"Tina, Tony rejected that proposal because he said it wasn't practical. We never even made a prototype."

"Well, you may get that chance now if you go down to your old lab at Stark Enterprises." Tina replied, and Bruce truly smiled then, for the first time since the accident.

"Great! Great! Tell Tony he'd better have the best assembly people in the company working with me on this one or it's his own neck."

Then, smiling broadly, Bruce Banner hung up the phone and slipped on his shoes and a jacket, then rushed off to his old lab, forgetting to straighten his hair, put on socks, brush his teeth, or do a number of other things he usually remembered to do. He was about to make Tony Stark eat his words, and if he was successful, it could well prove to be the high point of his career.

* * *

Reed grinned as he put the finishing touches on the scanning machine he'd invented, designed and built in the past twenty-eight hours, and started up the power, then watched as the alien machine entered it on a conveyer belt, and images began to appear on the display screen. Reed's smile broadened as he began making computer recordings of all the information he was receiving about the device, but the one bit of information that stuck with him was the very bit he'd been looking for.

* * *

Reed Richards was walking literally an inch taller than he'd been before he entered the lab, and Ben saw that, and the broad smile on his face, to mean that he'd made some progress.

"Find somethin'?" Ben asked, a smile appearing on his own rocky face, in the hope that Reed's upbeat attitude sent through him. Reed nodded swiftly as he took a drink from the water cooler.

"I discovered the program chip that was used to transform us. Now, I'm afraid it's a little complicated, but I was able to just reverse the coding, which should have the opposite effect once it's properly powered."

"So ya can turn me back!" Ben exclaimed joyfully, "I knew you could do it, big brain! I owe ya man!"

At that point, however, Reed's face fell again, and Ben knew it was time to brace himself for bad news.

"No." Reed replied, "I... I can't turn you back yet, Ben. I need more time."

"Why?" Ben asked confused, "What's left?"

"Well, I was able to determine the exact form of power that operated this device to begin with," Reed continued sadly, "but it's like nothing I've ever seen. I mean, I didn't even know that energy frequency existed, Ben. I can't generate power on a frequency like that. We can barely generate power on the frequencies we DO know about... Well, anyway, the secret to turning you back to normal is to find some way of getting a compatible power supply to the machine again. So, all we have to do is find a power supply that matches the one the machine runs on. The problem is that locating a frequency as rare and complex as that is going to be a tough job in itself. It's a whole new project... I'm sorry, Ben, but it looks like the job is still less than half done."

Ben's face had fallen when Reed said that, but he seemed to have been cheered somewhat by the news regardless, and eventually just said "Well, it's progress, anyway."

"Yes Ben." Reed replied, his smile returning, "It's progress."

Carefully, to avoid harming any of the nearby pieces of furniture, Ben seated himself and turned on the television, but the sight that met the eyes of the two old friends filled them with dread.

"Izzat who I think it is?" Ben asked in awe.

"I think so..." Reed replied, captivated by what he was seeing, "I'd heard he was long-lived, but still, to see him now, after all this time..."

Ben quickly turned up the volume, and the words of the reporter on the scene came through loud and clear.

"...been largely decimated by someone who looks like... I think that's him! I think that's the Submariner! Submariner, as many of you may remember, was declared a war hero by several allied nations, and decorated with honor just after the end of the Second World War, but what could have turned him against his former allies remains a mystery. We'll be moving further inland in a moment, to safer ground, but..."

The whole time, the video was transmitted live, and it was a video of the Submariner flying back and forth, crashing through buildings and toppling structures, cracking the pavement in many places as he moved with both astounding speed, and seemingly irresistible strength, but there was clear fury on his face. As he moved back and forth out of the camera's range, however, there could be no mistaking him. A tiny wing protruding from each ankle, a green, scaly pair of shorts held on by a golden belt, and of course, his light skin, pointed ears, sharp eyebrows, and jet black hair all served as evidence of his identity. It all screamed 'Namor.' The banner on the bottom of the screen read "New York City."

"He's right here!" Ben exclaimed as he turned off the television, "He's attackin' our home turf! Stretch, we gotta do somethin'!"

"You're right..." Reed said sadly as he pulled off his lab coat and moved into the next room to open the window. Ben, however, was following close behind, and at first, Reed had no idea what he had planned, until he'd stepped outside, stretching his legs to the ground, and Ben came crashing right through after him, his broad shoulders ripping the window from its frame, and he himself plummeting to the street below, where he landed right in front of a car going the other direction, putting massive cracks in the pavement, and forcing the car itself to swerve to avoid hitting him. With another semi-long jump, Ben reached the sidewalk, and was off at as much of a sprint as his rough skin would allow towards the harbor, where most of the damage was being done, while Reed accompanied him. Reed longed to move ahead of Ben somewhat, but he remembered the great strength and legendary temper that the Submariner was said to have had, and he knew that Ben's power would be needed.

"Still," he thought, glancing back once at the broken window and the dented street below, "There has to be a better way of doing this."

* * *

The Submariner had made himself easy to find. By the time Reed caught up to him, he'd already demolished several police cruisers which had arrived, as usual, only a few seconds behind the news vehicles, and in only a few seconds after that, Johnny was on the scene. At first, Submariner seemed startled by Johnny's appearance, and had stopped to speak to him for a moment, but one trigger-happy police officer had fired on him while he was talking, and he'd responded by throwing a nearby car at the man. In another moment, the fight began again, and Reed and Ben arrived a short while after that.

Apparently, Namor had mistaken Johnny Storm for someone else, but once he'd realized his error, he attacked relentlessly, and although Johnny was fast, and his flames would have protected him from any human foe, the Submariner seemed to have no fear of them at all, striking out with sharp, powerful kicks, with astonishing speed. Johnny was hard-pressed to avoid them, but he knew that even one would have been enough to finish him, and that was when Ben slugged Submariner in the face.

It had been a perfectly clean blow; dead-on with full force. Ben Grimm knew who Namor was, and he knew that he was dangerous, but regardless of the intentions with which the blow had been delivered, it seemed to do little more to the Submariner than knock him backwards a few yards. He quickly began advancing again, just as an enormous, skin-colored substance came down over his body.

Reed Richards had needed to remove his shirt in order to pull off that feat, but the result was that his arms, legs and chest were stretched out over the Submariner in a living cocoon, so that he couldn't get out. Reed's pants couldn't stretch, but from that angle, they didn't need to.

Namor struck out angrily at the substance entrapping him, delivering blow after blow to Reed's arms, legs and midsection, and yet, although the blows were powerful enough to send parts of his body flying outwards for dozens of feet, he felt no pain... no injury...

"Is that it, then?" Reed wondered to himself, "Am I invulnerable?"

"Whatever this substance is," Namor exclaimed, "It must be vulnerable to something, and I will find it!"

It only took Namor a moment to find Reed's weakness, unfortunately. As he clenched both fists tightly, his whole body began to expel an electric current like an eel, and Reed screamed as the current traveled through him, electrocuting him most painfully. Eventually, he had to let go, and his whole body returned to its original shape in Namor's clenched hands.

"What is this?" Namor asked, amazed, "A human? You two... Is this what humans have made of themselves in my absence... these strange... No. Most likely you are the best your race has to offer as warriors."

Namor threw Reed against the ground with a single swinging motion at that moment, but it didn't really hurt him. That was the answer, then. Invulnerable to impact, but not to everything.

"At first I wanted you all dead," Namor said aloud, as he looked at the three superhumans who surrounded him, "but now, I see that within your people lies a potential that I should wish to make use of in helping to undo the damage you've done. I claim this city as a colony of Atlantis. You will all aid me in restoring my empire to what it was."

For a few moments, nothing else was said, until Ben muttered "I don't get it. Why ain't this guy gettin' weaker?"

"Weaker?" Johnny asked, turning his flame off to lean closer to Ben.

"Back during the war, this guy was seen in action a lot." Ben replied, "They said he was invincible when he was in the water, but when he got outta the water, he just kept gettin' weaker and weaker. What's weird is, he's been on land fer a while now, but I don't see him weakenin'... It's almost like he's..."

Then Johnny looked again at Namor, slowed down, and for once in his life, he thought more carefully about something. Thoughts about his fight with Submariner over the last few minutes filled his head; the way Namor had charged with his shoulders, head-butted him, struck out with his feet, but never, ever, ever tried to punch him.

"Ben..." Johnny asked, "Did Namor always have cuffs that big?"

"Hold the phone!" Ben exclaimed, "I think I see what you're onto, kid! You do your thing, I'll do mine."

Johnny nodded, understanding perfectly. As he backed away from Ben Grimm, and turned his flame back on again, he knew that the same plan had formed in both of their minds.

Quickly, Johnny took to the air, and Namor followed, flying upward after him, but then, Johnny began firing flame blasts at Namor. Namor didn't really see what Johnny was up to, and once or twice, made a show of blocking the flames with his feet or chest, or even his face, but Johnny kept up the assault, and soon Namor had decided that the time had come to finish it. Speeding up, he zipped easily behind Johnny, and caught him in the back with a light kick, yet even that effortless attack broke one of Johnny's ribs as he flew through the air towards the ground, flaming off, and hoping that Reed would get the hint.

Fortunately, Reed Richards was rather a bright fellow, and stretched his body in between two buildings to catch the falling teenager, lowering him swiftly to the ground. Then Namor landed at the docks again, and braced himself for another attack, which came in the form of Benjamin Grimm's left fist driving into his midsection, knocking him down among the rubble of a nearby building, that he himself had destroyed.

"You mindless cretin!" Namor exclaimed as he clambered to his feet, "That hurt! That... hurt?"

"Yeah." Ben replied, "Me and the kid figured out your little secret. Them cuffs had seawater in 'em, didn't they?"

As Namor heard those words, he looked down at his arms, and saw, to his horror, that his water-cuffs, which he'd been using to maintain his invincibility on land, had vanished.

"But..." Namor thought back to his latest fight with Johnny, and quickly realized just what had happened. With all those flames flying this way and that, some of them must have melted the cuffs right off his arms, and evaporated the water inside, and with his power at its highest, he hadn't even felt it!

Furious, Namor charged Ben, swinging one fist with all his might, but the mighty thing that had once been Benjamin Grimm grabbed his fist in mid-air, and so began another battle. Without his invincibility, Namor's strength was no greater than that of Ben Grimm himself, but in time, he started to gain the upper hand through his agility and speed, and in a few more moments, he succeeded in knocking Ben backwards, over another pile of rubble.

"You belong this way, monster." Namor muttered, "In the dust at my feet."

Just then, there was a sound, like metal being crushed in a hydraulic press, and Namor seemed to have been knocked out towards the ocean by something that no one there could see. In only a moment, however, it became obvious what it was, and a car with a crushed front end appeared before them, as well as Susan Storm, who materialized on the docks nearby.

Johnny and Ben were really confused by that, and would have to listen to her recount the whole adventure to them later, but Reed knew what had happened. Sue Storm had gotten into the car, turning it and herself invisible, then driven right into Namor from one side, knocking him away from Ben. Still, as good as her intentions had been, Reed had a feeling that Sue's action had been bad for all of them, since Namor was bound to emerge again from the water in only another moment, and sure enough, that was exactly what he did, charging upward through water and air, then directly at them like a living bullet, until he reached the edge of the dock itself, and could see all four of them there, together...

Slowly, Namor stepped onto the dock and walked forward towards the four of them, each readying for an attack, but that was when he started to reconsider, and held up one hand to assure them that he wouldn't strike; at least not yet.

"What is your name?" the Submariner asked, looking directly at Sue.

"Susan Storm." she replied sadly, "Namor, please don't hurt these people anymore. Their lives are already so miserable..."

"You ask me for pity. I fear I have none to give." Namor said, looking equally sad.

"Then do it for yourself." Sue said, "You were a great hero during the war. You earned medals and recognition. Do you want to throw that all away?"

"Without Atlantis, all that is meaningless." Namor replied, "I have little left to lose. Still, if you would come with me, I would spare these wretches... You could give me something worth protecting again."

"I'm sorry, Namor." Sue replied, "But you can't look to others for something to protect. No one can. That's something you have to find on your own. All I ask is that you try to be a hero just one more time, and build things up, instead of tearing them down."

Namor looked sadly at his hands, covered in patches of dirt, ash, oil and blood. They were, he knew, not the type of hands a prince should have. It was a sad world indeed that forced him to go to such lengths.

"You are right about one thing." Namor replied, far more softly and gently than before, "I have no one to fight for. This is also a meaningless path. I suspected that might be the case, but I hoped that..."

Namor looked down at the docks under his feet sadly, then got up and turned to leave.

"So that's it?" Ben Grimm asked, "You're just gonna leave?"

"There's nothing left for me here." Namor replied, "Those who destroyed my empire are long dead, and that makes revenge no longer possible for me. All that's left is the searching. I must find my people again, so that we can rebuild anew."

Then, Namor dove into the waves and was gone.

* * *

"...aking up."

"Thank you Doctor Harris. This is something I want to see."

Tony Stark opened his eyes when he heard those words, and was fascinated to see Doctor Banner looking back at him only a moment later.

"Feeling better?" Bruce asked.

"The pain's gone." Tony noted, "Completely. How did you...?"

Bruce stepped off to the other side of the room, as he spoke, "That heart-aide device you didn't want made is mechanically operating your non-functional heart. It's almost like having your heart replaced. Naturally, you'll have to recharge this heart every few days, but I've fashioned several adapters, that will make that possible with any wall socket in the world. You have your life back."

"Fantastic!" Tony exclaimed, sitting upright, "Bruce, I owe you my life."

"That's right. You do." Bruce replied, "Before you leave this hospital, there are things I want in writing."

"Well, now that I can write again, you just name it." Tony replied with a smile.

"I already have a contract with you," Bruce replied, "but from now on, I want you to give all of my suggestions a full hearing."

"That's one lesson I've learned already." Tony replied, tapping the silent machines that covered a large part of his chest.

"Also, I want you to let me oversee the gamma reactor in its final stages." Bruce continued. For a moment, Tony's face fell, but he knew he couldn't refuse Bruce anything; not after what had happened.

"You got it." Tony replied, "Nothing else? No raise in salary?"

"I'm not looking for more money; just some satisfaction." Bruce said grimly.

Tony nodded with a smile, "You could have asked me for anything, you know; anything in the world."

"I'm not greedy." Bruce replied, a stern expression starting to appear on his face, "I saved your life because it was the right thing to do."

"Well, you had me over a barrel and you didn't take advantage of that." Tony said, "In my mind, that makes you the best friend a guy could have."

But as Bruce Banner looked at Anthony Stark, laying there in the hospital bed, with the bulletproof metal alloy covering his chest in small plates that moved in motorized sections, allowing him to maneuver as if it were a real chest, a twinge of guilt began to creep through his mind.

"I guess..." Bruce muttered.

"What?" Tony asked jovially, "No cutting words about how all of this is my fault?"

"It's not your fault." Bruce replied, "It's the Hulk's fault."

"Hulk?" Tony asked, "You mean that big, green... Yeah... Yeah, he did call himself that once or twice, as I recall... I wonder what he wanted."

"Well, anyway." Tony said, swinging his legs over one side of the hospital bed to get back on his feet and start putting on his work clothes, "I'll be ready for him if he shows up again. This heart ailment thing hasn't kept me down, thanks to you, and I intend to make the most of it. You see, I've been working on a project that I intended for the military, but... Well, at the moment, it seems like selling it would be premature. Hopefully, some of those weapons will be enough to defend me from violent creatures like this 'Hulk' character."

* * *

Bruce was gasping for breath as he stumbled into the washroom to rinse his hands and face, and heard the voice he'd been dreading.

"You see, Banner? Hulk IS the strongest one there is. Hulk made everything better."

"You had no idea this would happen, you monster!" Bruce replied angrily, "Don't try to pretend you planned it all this way!"

"Hulk doesn't need to plan." Hulk replied with an amused note in his voice, "Banner does that. He plans, and plans, and plans, as others turn against him, and nothing happens in Banner's favor. Hulk smashes his enemies, and it fixes everything!"

"We both got lucky this time." Bruce replied.

"Banner is indeed lucky to have Hulk on his side." the Hulk replied disgustedly, "Banner is puny and weak. Banner needs Hulk to protect him."

"I don't need you!" Bruce exclaimed angrily, "I wish you'd go away forever! I wish I'd never met you, you demon! All you do is destroy and damage things, and perpetrate violence on others! I hate it when people use violence! I hate it!"

"Banner only hates it because he has never been strong." Hulk replied, which seemed to get under Bruce's skin. To keep himself from becoming truly enraged, Bruce quickly dove out of sight of the mirror, and away from the Hulk's grinning face.

"You cannot hide from Hulk, Banner. Hulk is not in the mirror. Hulk is in you."

Then he fell silent, and Doctor Bruce Banner was alone again.

* * *

It had been three days since the fight with the Submariner, and Ben Grimm was reading a book about a man who was struggling to survive as he was stranded on a desert island, although he was starting to find the adventures in typical books to be less enthralling than his own life. Still, he was eager to get back to being just an ordinary human, and smiled as Reed walked into the room.

"Did you do it, stretch?" Ben asked as he stood up, "Did you find the alien energy thing?"

"Well, I am another step closer to that, Ben." Reed replied, "I've just finished drawing up blueprints and specifications for a long-range scanning device based on the one we launched not long ago, designed to detect specific energy signatures. If this alien energy is anywhere on earth, or in our solar system, this machine will find it in minutes. It'll take a few more days for the parts to arrive, but once they do, I'll probably have it up and running within a day. Of course, there's no guarantee this energy signature is anywhere within our range of space flight..."

"But at least this way we'll know if it's possible to turn me back or not." Ben replied with a smirk.

"Essentially, yes," Reed replied, "but in the meantime, I have another surprise for all of you. It's not as exciting as a cure, I'm afraid, but I think I've solved our transportation problems. Follow me."

So Ben did, through the doors at the top of the building, out onto the roof, which had been surrounded by a neck-high, metal fence for their protection, and there, he saw Johnny and Sue, dressed in identical outfits; blue all over with white gloves, boots and a white circle in the center of their chests, with the number four in blue on top of it. The outfits were skintight.

However, what really drew Ben's attention were the two vehicles behind them.

"As you can see," Reed explained, pointing to the large, metal plane that Ben most recognized, "I've modified the JUMP with its own righting legs, to get itself back into a vertical position for launch. Eight of them. I've also added extra seats, so that all of us can ride in it. This, however..."

As he spoke, Reed motioned to another vehicle that was shaped roughly like a miniature jet, composed of four pod-like segments joined together, each of which had a seat large enough to accommodate Ben, as well as a control panel, probably for moving the vehicle in different directions.

"Well, this is our emergency car." Reed explained, "Whenever there's an emergency and we're needed in a rush, we can just hop into this and take off through the air instead of having to destroy the walls, or the street, and all arriving at separate times."

"Hey, that's great!" Ben exclaimed, seeing several of the controls as the sort he recognized from simple plane operation classes.

"What's more, once each of us has learned to operate it, each of these cars can be detached from the main car, so that we can go in separate directions if we need to. The controls shouldn't take too long to master. The emergency car won't take us across oceans in minutes like the JUMP will, but it's good for local trouble."

"Great." Ben said again, "Say, big brain, what's with the getups?"

"I designed them for Johnny and Sue to react to their powers. These outfits contain a microscopic computer that changes the consistency of the fibers, essentially forcing these special unstable fibers that I created to react like a part of their body. In Johnny's case, when he's wearing this outfit, it's as impervious as he is to flame. In Sue's case, the outfit will turn invisible effortlessly as she does, and I have one myself..."

"A stretchy-suit?" Ben asked, "Sounds handy. Hope ya didn't make me one, though. There's enough rock-man here already, thanks."

Johnny chuckled for a moment from nearby, then said, "Naw, you don't have one, big guy. We know you can't resist showin' all of us your big, bright orange chest twenty-four seven."

"Joker." Ben replied as Johnny lit up, and took off into the sky, shouting in delight and awe as he made a jagged-edged loop in mid-air...

* * *

"The Fantastic Four were seen over New York City today in a new, flying vehicle allegedly designed for emergencies."

The newspaper fell back onto the table after its owner read that sentence. It wasn't as if he felt inferior; certainly not. He envied no man. Richards, however, seemed to have gotten lucky recently, and stumbled onto some inhuman abilities, which he hadn't previously possessed.

"I worked for it all." the man sitting at the table said, "I earned every ounce of what I have through genius, will and talent. I never had any strange power fall into my lap like that, nor would I enjoy it if I did. It would be impossible to be proud of a gift I hadn't earned through an effort. In some ways, I almost pity Richards because of that, though I know he and I rarely saw things alike."

"Still," the man thought, picking up the newspaper again in his armored hand, "if he and his friends prove to be an obstacle, I won't hesitate to destroy them, and prove that power that is earned is a far more enduring thing than simple good luck. Yes, that will be a victory for mankind indeed, as well as a victory for Doom."

Then Doom rose to his feet, and tossed the newspaper into the nearest garbage tube as he moved into the next room to make further plans.

* * *

Out in the suburbs near New York City, an eight-legged creature crawled along the grass, glowing dimly as it moved. Soon it found a drainpipe, and began climbing up the outside of it, towards an open window on the second floor of the house it had arrived at, attracted by the light that had been left on in that room by its occupant, who was studying hard, even though it was late in the evening...

* * *

End


	4. Issue 4: History of Pain Part 1

Note: This tale takes place before Xavior Institute Neo Issue 1, chronologically, but I'm posting it afterwards to explain things that came before. Just wanted to avoid confusion.

* * *

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 4

"History of Pain"

Part 1 of 2

* * *

June 1st, 1944

* * *

Like all the important missions, it was a mission deep into enemy territory. The moment that Steve Rodgers had decided that he would give anything, or make any sacrifice to benefit his country; he knew there would be danger. However, it was stagnation, not danger, that Rogers was most afraid of, particularly surrounded by so many enemies, and such powerful allies. As a being with no unnatural powers, it made Rogers' job that much harder. He had to do everything he could.

Steve Rodgers was a very special person. Scrawny, small and easily-tired in his youth, the formula of a man named Doctor Erskine had transformed his body and mind, giving him skills and abilities which, according to Erskine, were next to perfect for a human. Overnight, the formula had transformed him into the perfect soldier, and there had never been a time when the world had more needed one.

In the midst of the second world war, the bloodiest war in mankind's history, Steve's presence had been a vital ingredient in winning many battles, not merely due to his physical skill and the bulletproof shield he used to deflect the attacks of the enemy away from allied soldiers (it was circular like a large discus, and colored red and white in rings, ending in a big star in the center,) but because in matters of tactics and drawing battle plans, Steve Rodgers was a true genius.

No one really knew whether those mental faculties had always been his, or whether they were a result of the formula that had augmented his physical strength and speed, but the fact of the matter was that Steve Rodgers, who had been code-named Captain America and given a costume of red, white and blue, designed to get the enemy's attention and draw their fire, was considered to be the perfect field commander, and so, the only person sufficient to lead the special squad known as The Invaders into battle.

The Invaders were the best of the best. No other squad in the allied forces could penetrate as deeply into the enemy's ranks as they could, and Captain America was honored to be working with them. The only problem was that whenever the invaders were handed a new mission, it was guaranteed to be life-threatening for all the mere mortals involved.

In that case, it was the fortress Straumer, located uncomfortably close to the German border. Straumer was a military installation designed for one purpose alone; to finish secret military testing on a new weapon, intended to turn the tide of the war back to Germany's favor; maybe even win it completely. Essentially, it was a large, heavily-guarded science laboratory, but until recently, no allied spy had ever been able to return with news of what precisely the aim of that laboratory was.

Everyone who knew the laboratory existed had their own theories, of course. For almost a year, Captain America had suspected that they were at work on a new type of bomb, but from the sounds of things, and the urgency with which the Invaders had been deployed, he must have been mistaken. Clearly, at least two of the allied nations had learned Straumer's secret, but they hadn't told him what it was; only that his job was to destroy Straumer completely, to prevent its research from being finished.

Communications between different members of the Invaders were being kept to a minimum. That was standard military procedure for that kind of mission. Still, Steve wasn't sure how anyone would have eavesdropped on them. The communication method they were using was, after all, not simple radio, but a sort of telepathic coral, dredged up from the sea floor by fellow Invader Namor, which fitted neatly into the ears of all the members of his squad. It wasn't fireproof, though, which meant that contact would be lost with the Torch after he did his part.

"T-M." Captain America said into the coral, feeling his blue mask with the white letter "A" in the center, to make sure it was on right, "Are you in?"

The response was a series of sharp cracks, as if weapons were being fired, then Steve got his answer.

"Yeah. I'm in here, Cap. We'd better hurry, though. They'll figure out the guards are missing soon and sound the alarm."

"Spitfire? You get that?" Cap asked. He checked the rest of his outfit to make sure he was ready. Tight blue pants, bright red boots and gloves, a blue shirt with white sleeves, red and white stripes lining the stomach and hip area vertically, and a white star in the middle of his chest. He had special equipment in black pouches hanging from his belt as well, and his shield was slung across his back. It was all ready. From that position, he could reach any of his weapons at a moment's notice.

"Loud and clear." Spitfire replied over her telecoral, "I just need to wait until the gate's dow... Here we go-o-o-o-o..."

Spitfire's voice echoed in rhythms as she passed the speed of sound, moving in and out of the ranks of her enemy unseen, striking them from behind with sufficient speed to either kill them or knock them out for several hours, depending on the quality of the weapons they seemed to be carrying. In a matter of three seconds, the guards in the main hall and lower floors were either dead or unconscious.

"Torch?" Cap said, "Your turn."

Almost as soon as he said it, four pillars of fire erupted from the outsides of the compound, slowly descending towards the walls of the fortress, and that was when Cap himself started to move in. He smiled as Jack and Miss America joined him in his charge, and he could see Namor already floating above the fortress, distracting the fire of the enemy soldiers on the upper levels. Jack was dressed in a black costume and mask that concealed his entire body from view, except for his eyes, and the outfit was useful as body armor too. Aside from the normal black of his outfit, only a single dark violet symbol was visible across his chest in the shape of a British flag; indicating his country of origin. Miss America was dressed all in red, with a black belt and a shield-shaped image in red, white and blue across her chest. She also wore a red cape with blue lining. Clearly, her costume design, like Captain America's, was intended for attracting enemy fire, but then, she could handle that just fine. She had long, brown hair, which flowed openly in the wind. As for Namor, he always looked the same, dressed in only a short pair of what sometimes looked like briefs, except green and covered in scales, and a golden belt over that. He flew through the air, his jet black hair, pointed ears and sharp eyebrows plainly visible, and a small, feathery wing protruding from each of his ankles. Namor was said to be a prince, if not a king, and carried himself with a very dignified air, even during battle.

"Our boys in espionage say the labs are down in the subbasements of the fortress." Cap said as he rushed up to the front door, watching with pride as Miss America bashed it in with a single blow, without even having to be told, "If that's true, we'll need a to find the way down. Jack, stay behind me. If they have reinforcements down there, my shield will offer us some protection, and we may get the chance to retaliate."

Jack nodded, fingering his automatic pistols carefully, ready to strike at any moment as Captain America moved quickly through the hot stone hallways. Nazi guards and soldiers lay all around them, down for the count, but all that mattered was finding the lab before it was too late.

Miss America kicked open another in a long series of doors as they moved down the hallway, finding, thankfully, a flight of steps leading downward.

"I think this might be it." she said to her allies, drawing a nod from Cap as he stepped over the bent, twisted metal that was left of the door, and moved quickly down the stairs beyond, holding his shield in front of him.

There were many things that Captain America had expected to see at the very bottom of those stairs; many people he'd expected to encounter, but not the Red Skull. The Red Skull was a very high-level Nazi agent who'd opposed Captain America many times in the past. He wore the typical uniform of the Nazi higher-ups, very similar to the one Hitler himself usually wore when involved in military matters, but as his code name implied, his face resembled nothing, so much as a large, blood-red, human skull. The Red Skull had fought with Captain America often in the past, but he'd always been careful not to get caught by allied soldiers in an insecure place with no means of escape. Not that time, however. Captain America smiled as the Red Skull fired upon him with his own automatic gun, but Cap had blocked bullets with his shield before, and he did so with expert ease then, as Jack fired back, catching the Red Skull in the leg.

"You slipped up this time." Captain America said, as he swatted the gun from the Skull's hand with ease, grabbing him by the shoulders, "Even you can't defeat the Invaders now."

"It is not I you should be concerned with." the Red Skull replied, with that grotesque smile, that reminded Cap that things weren't always what they seemed. Quickly, he spun around to see that a scientist in a lab coat had pulled a lever on a machine positioned next to the stairway he'd entered by, causing the air in the room to start changing around them.

Holding onto the Red Skull tightly, Captain America yanked him to the center of the room as Miss America drove her fist into the machine the professor had just activated, and Jack grabbed the white-coated man, throwing him across the room with ease, and probably killing him.

"No!" the skull exclaimed, "You fool! You've destroyed the machine! The process is only half finished! Do you have any idea what damage you've done?"

"If nothing else, your Fuhrer won't be able to use that device to help him with this mad war he started!" Cap replied.

"That's the least of our worries now." the Red Skull replied, and that was when Captain America saw something in the Red Skull that he'd never seen before. The selfish, genocidal, megalomaniac... was sad; just plainly and purely sad, and Cap didn't know what to make of it.

"Jack! Miss A! Get out of here, now!" Cap exclaimed, "Hurry! I'll bet he's got bombs lining this whole place!"

With finely-honed reflexes, Miss America grabbed Jack around the waste and tore a hole open in the ceiling, flying upward into the air, just in time, as a blast of some kind of strange, blue energy seemed to fill the whole basement at that moment, seeping up and out of the fortress in a hundred different directions, as the other Invaders fled the scene. The entire structure of the fortress was later found to have collapsed inward, into the subbasement, but neither Captain America nor the Red Skull were ever found among its ruins...

* * *

"Blasted mortals! Blasted interfering mortals!"

The exclamation went unheard by the Invaders, however, as it had been uttered from far away. In fact, no one in their entire world could have hoped to hear it, because it was spoken from the reality of Asgard, a world beyond Earth and the Solar system, and even the galaxy in which the humans dwelled. Of course, other realities are not truly distant from our own in space, nor parallel to us in any way that can be physically measured. Such is the complex, multifaceted nature of existence.

But, although we humans may ponder such a thing our whole lives and never understand it, the one who'd spoken did understand. He was named Loki, and at one time, he'd been hailed and feared by the Normans of the ancient world as a god of mischief. Indeed, by some definitions, he was a god; immortal and powerful in many ways, although like so many of those old gods of myth, his concerns were purely his own. At the moment, those concerns were of his most recent failure in the Earth reality, and his anger with the people who the earthlings had christened their heroes. It wasn't the first time earth heroes had been a thorn in his side, but that time... That time they hadn't had any idea who, precisely they'd inconvenienced. It burned him up inside.

Loki was dressed largely in gold armor, and a helmet decorated with long horns, curved like those of a ram. His thick, golden armor and long, gold-colored cape were a decent indication of the type of man who wore them. He was selfish, greedy and always seeking some new acquisition.

"All the weapons, all the spells," Loki exclaimed, "and none of it meant a thing. Those pitiful creatures let themselves be conquered so quickly... Now it may be years before I can start over!"

Furiously, Loki got to his feet, waving his hand over the pool in the center of his room, causing the image to vanish from its surface, and then disappeared from his quarters to reappear in the main hall of the royal palace of Asgard, where Loki and all the other royals of Asgard typically resided. The main hall was frequently used for official functions and diplomatic affairs, but more often, it was simply a common area, where any of the gods of Asgard could gather to speak with one another, debate grievances or plan alliances. More recently, Asgard had been largely peaceful, which only made Loki all the more furious. He'd never gotten what he wanted out of life, and the continuing peace of Asgard was, to him, a deplorable thing, because it only drove home further the obvious facts of his life. He had lost. Thor and Odin were victorious. The old wars were all in the past.

As Loki gazed around the main hall, he saw nothing to indicate that wars had ever been fought in Asgard. Hundred-foot pillars of marble lined the carpet in the center, while meeting-tables of the finest quality were set up beyond those. At the various tables, the inhabitants of Asgard spoke with one another, arranged important work, or even played games of strategy, but Loki could see with anger that the people of Asgard had learned well the lesson of vigilance. Every person there had a weapon, and those weapons which were not being held in one hand, hung from the belts or shoulders of their owners. Loki knew all of those weapons by name. He'd seem them all used in battle before, and had been made aware of their names and functions, but there was one weapon only that he was obsessed with, and that was the hammer of his adopted brother.

Loki knew the hammer of Thor in every way that one can know a weapon, except of course that he had never wielded it himself. He'd memorized the spells surrounding it, the shape, the colors of the uru metal and the ancient worldwood that had carved its handle. Loki had seen the hammer in battle many times. It was called Mjolner, and in fact, it had been used against him more than once. He, in turn, had found a means of smashing it once through trickery, but those in the mortal world had repaired it, and so it, and his brother had endured. Loki had memorized everything about Mjolner that he could over the centuries that he'd needed to tolerate its existence; even the sound it made when it struck lightly against the hip of the mighty Thor while hanging from his belt.

"I expected to find thee here, brother." Loki said, not needing to turn and look at Thor.

"Thy presence in this hall surprises me, however." Thor replied, putting one hand on his brother's shoulder with a smile, "Hast thou finally forsaken thy obsession with the world of mortals?"

"Nay." Loki replied, glaring at Thor's hand, which Thor took as his cue to remove it from Loki's shoulder.

"Nay?" Thor asked, moving to face Loki from the front, so that Loki turned his head to one side, refusing to even look at his adopted brother directly, "Dost thou not see the simple nature of it all yet, mine brother? Dost thou not see the weakness and the foolishness of mortal man?"

"Aye." Loki replied, at last facing his brother with a grin on his countenance, and a sparkle in his eyes, "I doth indeed. But unlike thee, brother, I covet those very traits which thou dost find abhorrent. 'Tis their very weakness which makes them so excellent a distraction. At least... In their weakness alone do they distract."

"Thou hast been humbled by them." Thor observed, his smile broadening.

"Hardly." Loki replied with a sneer, "Though mine plans for their fates accomplished less than I had intended."

"Loki, the mortals are a pitiable, lesser type of creature." Thor replied, his face suddenly growing stern, "I see thy obsession with them as that of a child who doth injury to small animals for his enjoyment. For indeed, injury is all that one such as we may do to mortals, as it is injury they do to one another. Dost thou not see the futility and the smallness of the mortal world?"

"Mortals may surprise thee one day, brother." Loki said with a wicked grin.

"Or they may not." Thor replied sternly, as he moved away to share words with a beautiful Valkyrie standing guard beside one of Odin's many tables of ceremony.

"Indeed." Loki replied, "One might not be surprised by what one doth not recall."

Loki continued to scan the room, while leaning against one of the hall's many pillars, as Thor finished his conversation and left the hall, presumably to return to his own quarters, but his absence did precious little to help Loki's mood. Still, Loki's mood was helped even less when Odin himself entered the hall and approached him casually.

"Thou didst hear our words together." Loki observed as soon as Odin was within four yards of him, and Odin paused, his thick, gray beard and long hair twitching in surprise as his brow rose a bit, shifting the helmet and eye patch he wore there at nearly all times. Odin was a powerfully-built man who wore strong armor. His primary weapon; the spear Gungnir, was slung across his back at the moment when he spoke to his adopted son.

"Aye. I heard thy words to thy brother, and his words to thee." Odin said, his beard shaking slightly when he spoke.

"Then how much longer must I wait before thou dost allow me to take action against him?" Loki demanded, raising one fist in anger, "He hath said to me that I am a petty man! Will he see no punishment for his remarks?"

"Indeed." Odin replied, seeming to be deep in thought for a moment, "Thor must be taught a lesson, but let thy hands not be the ones to deliver it. My son shall learn his lesson in the way I choose."

Loki was quite surprised by that response. It wasn't the first time Thor had leveled such accusations against Loki, nor was it the first time Loki had complained about it to Odin, but Odin had never seen fit to punish Thor as a result. It was a most unexpected outcome.

"It has been a long time coming." Loki replied, his fury calming a bit, "I suppose I should thank thee for thy willingness to hear me out in complaints against thy only true son."

"Thou hast always been my son," Odin replied with a smile, "regardless of thy blood."

Then Odin turned towards the exit that Thor had taken and stormed off after his son, however, Loki smiling broadly as he watched the all-father go.

* * *

Thor's quarters were a large affair, as befits the prince of the gods of Asgard, the walls painted in murals of great feats being performed, or great battles being fought, and the bed, the table, the chairs... Even the ornamental trophies and weapons hanging from the walls were all of the finest sort, enchanted to last for all eternity, and with all of eternity at his disposal, Odin thought to himself that no lesson of finite length would be too harsh for his son. Those thoughts, however, were mostly to convince himself that what he was about to do was, in fact, acceptable.

"My son?" Odin asked, and suddenly, Thor was there, a smile on his face and Mjolnir by his side. His long, blond hair and sturdy helmet and armor glittered in the sunlight coming in through the window of his quarters. Though it had been many years since Thor had needed to do battle with a worthy enemy, he knew the value of vigilance, if nothing else.

"Father. It is good to see thee." Thor said.

"Thou hast done much to offend thy brother." Odin said, not replying in the customary way to Thor's remark.

"Dost thou find favor with that no longer?" Thor asked, his expression still a jovial one.

"Ne'er did I find favor with the feuding between the two of thee," Odin replied, "but that is not thy principle sin, my son."

"Hath I offended thee, father?" Thor asked, looking very concerned, as Odin sighed and tried to explain himself.

"In times long past, I spent much time wandering the mortal world myself." Odin said, "Disguised as a simple beggar in robes and a long-brimmed hat, I didst wander among the people of the mortal world, and in doing so, acquired all that I now have, but one thing foremost; wisdom. For the secret potion to give great wisdom, I didst trade mine own eye. Dost thou recall the story, Thor?"

Thor dared not respond by that point. Odin was disagreeing with his views, which was something to be taken most seriously.

"For a time, I thought that thou couldst rely upon my presence in thy life for wisdom, but now I see that wisdom is something that must be earned. It cannot be inherited."

"If thou dost mean that I lack thy great wisdom, that is to be expected..." Thor said, trying to summon up another grin, but Odin shook his head sadly.

"Wisdom indeed thou dost lack." he said, "However, what thou dost lack most sorely is humility. Thy pride has led thee to denounce all mortal beings as insignificant when thou hast heard otherwise from mine own lips."

"Are they not inferior creatures, father?" Thor asked, "Was I wrong to speak thusly of them?"

"Thou dost know next to nothing of the mortal world or its people." Odin replied, "Make no bold statements of those thou knowest not."

"Is it not the task of all gods to pass judgment?" Thor asked, "Father, thou didst travel the world in thy youth, training thyself in wisdom and courage. Mine upbringing hath been in Asgard; a god from the day of my birth. Wouldst thou have me discard the things I hath learned in all that time?"

"Indeed." Odin replied sadly, "The lessons of centuries may not be undone in a mere day. For this reason above all others, I hath come to a difficult decision. Thor, thou must be taught a lesson in humility. I must, reluctantly, send thee forth from this palace, into the mortal world, to walk among the mortals as I once did, and learn from them the true lessons of life."

"That is ridiculous!" Thor exclaimed, "Should I, who command the thunder and lightning, walk among the simple denizens of the mortal world, who arm themselves with naught but their hands and feet?"

"Thou hast no choice, Thor!" Odin replied, clearly angry by that point, "I bind thy power and essence to Mjolner until such time as I believe thou hast learned thy lesson! Only in the hands of a mortal man shall thy power and true nature be revealed, and only in the one mortal of hundreds who is worthy of thy power! To them shall thee be bound for thy freedom, and through their eyes shalt thou see the mortal world, so that thou shalt rely upon them, and they upon thee. Let Mjolner, then, and thee be banished from this place until I release thee."

As Odin spoke, Thor could feel his strength fading, and his very lungs and heart were tiring as he felt his body, his armor, his helmet, and every atom of his being falling to dust, and every bit of that dust falling to the floor, to seep into and join with the form of Mjolner, which had fallen to the floor on its side; words forming into the metal on its head. Then, on its own, Mjolner rose into the air, flying out the window of Thor's room. Odin sighed sadly as he watched it go, soaring out over Asgard towards Bifrost; the rainbow bridge leading to the human realm of Midgard. It was painful to do such a thing to one's own son, but then, it might well have been the best thing for him, and if not... If not, Odin could break the enchantment at any time. Still, it filled him with sadness as he returned to his work. As king over all of Asgard, Odin had many other matters to tend to...

* * *

November 13th, 2007

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press. I'd like to thank you all for coming." Anthony Stark said with a smile as he stood before the dome-shaped machine in the center of the room, surrounded by control panels manned by the finest scientists at work in Stark Industries, "As many of you who've followed my company's past projects may know, my recent experiments in magnetic forces were with the intention of creating a self-contained magnetic field of intense power, in order to protect my own artificial heart from magnetic variables in the world around me; microwaves, cel-phones... that sort of thing."

Some members of the press chuckled. Others seemed concerned.

"Well, while I was tampering with magnetic fields in that way, I discovered a field frequency, purely by accident, which seemed to filter light very strangely, so that objects appeared to be passing through it a fraction of a second before they actually did. Of course, it's hard to notice, but I believe this may represent the first irrefutable evidence of a breach in causality, and by attempting to duplicate the same experiment on a larger scale, I mean to cause that breach right here and now, for all to see."

"Mister Stark..." one young, male reporter with brown hair asked, "What do you hope to accomplish with an experiment like this?"

"Well, in the short term, I intend to use this breach in space to fire a magnetic repulsor beam across a distance of three meters, and have it reach its intended target a fraction of a second before it's fired. That could represent, if nothing else, certain military possibilities. Of course, two months ago, we never would have been able to generate the right kind of power to make an experiment like this work, but since the success of the Gamma Reactor project, that's not a problem anymore."

"Mister Stark..." a blond woman said, "If you're using a gamma reactor to power this experiment, may I assume that you have experts making sure that this... distortion you're planning to create doesn't have an adverse effect on the reactor itself?"

"Way ahead of you." Stark replied with a smile, "At the moment, the Gamma Reactor we're using is in a blast chamber, just like the one the first Gamma Reactor prototypes were tested in. If there's a problem, the whole chamber can be sealed off instantly. Even the wiring can be cut with the push of a button. As for experts, I have the world's foremost expert on the Gamma Reactor; Doctor Bruce Banner watching the controls. He'll be standing on the kill switch until the experiment's over. Well, shall we begin?"

It had been a question, but Tony Stark hadn't intended it as one. In minutes, the experiment was underway, regardless of the questions that might otherwise have been leveled in his direction.

The dome opened with the flick of a switch, revealing a series of glass devices resembling radio tubes encircling a net-like enclosure made of interlocking metal links. Still, one could see quite plainly what was going on inside the circular enclosure. There was nothing in there...

As Stark turned up the power, the glass tubes began to glow from within, with a light blue radiance that cast light over the whole chamber. Then, the light within the central chamber seemed to change slightly as they all watched in awe. Stark could have sworn he saw a flash of blue and white across the chamber's center, but when he pushed another button, and a metal plate was seen falling to the floor through the chamber, nearly a second and a half before it actually did, Stark was still amazed. Not only did it breach causality, but if he wasn't mistaken, he thought he'd heard the sound of metal hitting metal twice; once when the image was seen through the chamber, and once when it happened a second and a half later.

"So this isn't just light images." Stark muttered, amazed, "This could be a genuine rift in time. I wonder what'll happen if I increase the power even more..."

Almost involuntarily, Stark turned the power to its maximum setting, and watched in awe as the images within the chamber changed, causing an image of a man to appear before him, as if by magic. It was a man Stark had never seen in person; a man out of legend; a man dressed in red, white and blue. Stark watched in amazement as the very air in the chamber seemed to wrench itself open, in a blinding blue radiance, and a blast of wind erupted from within the chamber. Struggling against the continuing high winds that were filling the test area, Stark rushed for the controls and shut the power down, leaning in relief against a nearby wall, as the winds disappeared and everything returned to normal.

At least, Stark thought at first that everything was back to normal. However, when he looked into the chamber, he saw, for the second time in as many minutes, a man dressed in red, white and blue, and carrying a disc-shaped shield similarly designed.

"What's going on here?" the man asked as the machine powered down completely, "Where are we? Where's the Red Skull?"

"Just a moment." Stark muttered, holding up one hand, to indicate that he meant no harm as he tapped the button allowing vocal transmission to the gamma reactor chamber.

"Bruce, what's going on?" Tony asked into the transmitter.

"It all looks like it's checking out, sir." Bruce replied, "If there's something wrong up there, it's not the reactor's fault."

"So there were no fluctuations in the power levels during the experiment?"

"None to speak of."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there were minor energy variances throughout the whole experiment, which the energy containment systems had been programmed to compensate for, but you get that with any kind of energy reactor."

"Right." Tony replied, "Thanks Bruce. Actually, there does seem to be something going on up here. We've got a guy inside the containment unit who's dressed like Captain America."

"Say what? Captain America?"

"That's right. Any explanations Bruce?"

"Tony, the Gamma Reactor is just a power supply. Whatever your machine did, it's all your technology that's responsible. But... Well, didn't Captain America die in some kind of explosion just a few days before D-Day?"

"I think so." Tony replied.

"Well, I'm not dead." Cap replied from within the enclosure, "Now, if you could open this thing and let me out, then maybe give me a few straight answers..."

"Sorry, Bruce. I've gotta go." Tony said into the intercom, turning it off, then turning back to the man in the enclosure, he said calmly, "So you're actually claiming to be Captain America?"

"What do you think?" Cap asked calmly.

"Well, I don't know." Tony replied, "Considering the real Captain America disappeared more than sixty years ago, I'd say that's something of a stretch."

For a moment, Captain America fell silent, but he'd apparently seen enough strange things in his life, that it didn't take him too long to grasp the situation.

"Yeah." Captain America replied, "I'm having a hard time believing you too, but if we're not on axis soil, I suggest you open this thing and let me out."

For a few moments, Tony just looked at Cap, still with much suspicion, but at last, he decided "Alright. The chamber doesn't have a door, though, so I'll need to get a cutting crew down here. You'll have to sit tight for about an hour."

"Patience is the easy part." Cap replied, seating himself on the bottom of the enclosure with his legs folded underneath him, and closing his eyes as Tony picked up a phone and dialed an extension.

* * *

"I can barely believe it." Doctor Jackson said as he left the testing room, "That man in there is definitely Captain America."

"I don't understand how that could be." Tony replied, "Shouldn't he be about ninty by now?"

"I don't understand it either," Doctor Jackson replied, "but the military had several preserved samples of Captain America's blood, and this man definitely has the same DNA structure."

"This is probably the second strangest thing that's ever happened to me." Tony replied, looking through the nearby glass window into the testing room, "I wonder how it happened. I mean, I was experimenting with causality breaches, and... Well, I suppose that might lead to time travel in some fashion, but why him? Why Captain America?"

"I think I may have the answer to that question, Mister Stark."

The voice had come from behind, and as Tony turned quickly to look towards its source, he could see a man standing in one corner of the room, who he hadn't noticed before. The man was wearing the uniform of an air force general, however, and Tony Stark knew who he was.

"General Simon?" Tony asked, "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I brought the blood samples in person." Simon replied, "I had to see this for myself, Tony. Of course, Cap was before my time too, but I'd always heard stories about him. Some people said we might never have won if he hadn't been there to give our troops inspiration during the Second World War. If this is really him..."

The general fell silent at that point, so Tony took that as his cue to speak.

"General, how did Captain America die?"

The general cast Tony a short, somewhat emotionless glance, however, before replying, "Tony, the official records said that Captain America was killed in action while leading the Invaders against a Nazi fortress deep in enemy territory. However, the truth is that Captain America's body was never actually found. He vanished in that fortress, and according to two of his allies in the Invaders, who were considered trustworthy, the Red Skull was involved in the projects going on in that fortress, and he vanished too. We're not sure what was involved in the project exactly, but some of the axis higher-ups seemed to think it was their ticket to claiming victory."

"In other words, they could have been working on a means of sending people to other times," Tony replied, "and my experiment just picked up what they accidentally sent off."

General Simon just shrugged, "I don't know, Tony. I'm no scientist. But if you can figure out what happened, I'll bet it'd be worth a fortune to some of the people I answer to."

"Yeah..." Tony replied with a sad look in his eyes, "I've been working on it, among other things, but there are still so many variables... I need more time."

"Just tell me if we won!" Captain America exclaimed angrily to one of the doctors who was still in the testing room, looking him over, and Tony grinned slightly at the sight, then said, "Excuse me, general. We have other, more immediate issues around here."

* * *

Doctor Blake stepped out of the operating room, looking absolutely exhausted. In truth, it was more emotional exhaustion than anything else. He hardly had it in him to feel glad over what had just happened.

Doctor Blake removed his mask and sighed, running one hand through his short, blond hair as he rested the other against a wall. A graying man in his mid forties stood up quickly to walk over to him, and asked imploringly "Cynthia... Is she...?"

"She'll be alright." Donald Blake replied, "Just give her a few days to rest and make sure she gets plenty of liquids and good nutrition. The operation was successful. The rest is up to her now."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you, Don!" the man; whose name was Gerald exclaimed, shaking Blake's hand heartily, "I have to do something for you... You deserve to be paid in full for this... I just... wish I had more money."

Donald just shook his head, though. Gerald was a very poor man, and Cynthia was his wife, but they were both good people and very good friends, and it had been the least Donald could do to help them in their time of need.

"It's alright, Gerald." Donald replied, trying his best to fake a smile, as if he weren't exhausted, "You're the best friend a man could have. That's payment enough."

"No, it's not." Gerald replied adamantly, "I have to give you something... I know!"

Quickly, Gerald moved over to his seat, where he opened a small bag he'd brought with him and pulled out a very odd-looking hammer. The blunt end was almost perfectly rectangular, with small circlets on the front and back, and the handle it was attached to was short and wooden, with a strap of something that looked like leather tied around it, forming into a loop at the base. The whole thing looked surprisingly sturdy.

"What is it?" Donald asked.

"It's a Viking artifact of some kind." Gerald replied, "I found it a while back in between two rocks on a beach not far from here. It's apparently very old, and probably worth something to someone."

"Is it fragile?"

"Not at all. It's very sturdy. I'll bet you couldn't break it if you tried."

So Donald Blake took the hammer from his friend, and tried in vain to snap its wooden handle. Sure enough, the handle held fast.

"Amazing." Donald muttered, "I've never felt wood quite like this before. There's writing on the side, too..."

"Yes." Gerald replied with a smile, "The writing is very finely carved, considering it dates back over a thousand years. That probably means this hammer had immense ceremonial significance."

"It makes reference to a 'god of thunder.'" Donald said.

"The Viking peoples believed strongly in many different gods who both sought their downfall and protected them from evil. One of the strongest and most honorable was the thunder god Thor. I didn't find that out until another of my friends examined this for me, though."

Donald finished reading the message on the hammer and smiled, putting it carefully near the bottom of his bag, which he used to carry all his medical equipment.

"It also says that if I'm worthy, it will grant me the power of the thunder god." Donald said with a grin.

"I must not be worthy." Gerald replied with something approaching a chuckle, "It's never worked for me."

"Still, it's a fine gift. I know you don't have much to give, but thank you very much, old friend." Donald said, shaking Gerald's hand warmly once more.

* * *

Once he'd been presented with sufficient evidence that he truly was sixty-three years from the time he'd first set out on his mission into Straumer, Captain America had insisted on learning everything he possibly could about the recent social, political and military situation. Regardless of the fact that the Second World War was long over, his vow remained the same. He would do anything he could to help America.

However, as Captain America had read about the last sixty-three years of development; the McCarthy trials, the communist paranoia, the pacifist movements, the impeachment of president Nixon and onset of Reaganomics, which continued into the modern era, he seemed to feel less and less inclined to help America in their current war in the middle east. When asked about that, he simply replied, "If our boys over there fail in their mission, America won't perish because of it. The power of America as a country seems to have been firmly established, but no country, no matter how powerful can crush the human spirit."

After he'd said that, he went back to his studies.

It was three weeks before Captain America felt that he knew a sufficient amount about the modern world to begin making responsible life decisions, and by that point, Tony Stark had pretty much shelved the causality experiment in favor of the more mundane magnetic field experiments he'd started with. He'd even begun work on what he called "a prototype weapon using electromagnetism." No one, however, knew much about that prototype. All anyone really knew was that Stark had funded its construction with his own money, and that there was a large amount of metal involved.

However, Stark's total secrecy surrounding the project drew some suspicion in both people and organizations. The military kept asking questions, and rumors were leaking this way and that. When a shipment of special, refined osmium ores arrived at Stark Enterprises, and the computer records indicated that it had originated in Latveria, however, everyone started to become suspicious, except for one person, who was far past suspicion.

* * *

"That's all I needed to see." a red-haired woman said, tapping a key on her computer terminal, "Tony Stark's actions have shown strong signs of corruption in the past, but this crosses the line. If he's building some type of super weapon with the aid of unfriendly nations, the military deserves to know about it."

Quickly, the woman in darkness got to her feet and pushed the button to turn off the master computer's specially-designed power generators. With the kind of work she did, it was necessary to take precautions to make sure she couldn't be tracked.

The woman moved over to the table at the back of the room and grabbed the devices on the edges of the table, clapping them firmly to her belt and wrists, then selected one of seven motorcycles, which she'd tinkered with until they were virtually silent. Her precautions finished, the woman donned a black helmet, and set off into the night.

* * *

"There we are." the man who called himself Les Lawrence said as he finished tampering with the information surrounding Tony Stark's latest experiment, "That ought to shake things up a bit. Now I just need Osborn to do his part."

"Les" grinned as he clapped both hands together, ending the spell he'd cast, and moved into the research department, straightening his tie. Some of the best scientists in the New York area were working on the project. Otto Octavious, Jason Davidson, and of course, Norman Osborn himself. With such talent and the technological improvements made over the last sixty-three years, "Les" knew his chances for success were quite good.

"Are you ready to begin, Doctor Lawrence?" Norman asked impatiently.

"Of course." "Les" replied, "I just had to finish taking care of one problem. We can begin any time. The sooner, the better."

"Indeed." Norman replied with a wide-eyed, enthusiastic nod of his head. Of course, the common types of power generators they were using would hardly be the same thing as a Gamma Reactor, but they would serve the purpose just as well. Quickly, the power was turned on, the main switches thrown to start the machine, and "Les" prepared to make his move as the device activated, bright blue power shining forth from it, as the very fabric of space seemed to tear open before the astounded scientists.

However, something had gone wrong. Instead of a simple hole in space and time, as Les had originally thought there would be, a figure appeared, dressed in a tight-looking, tan uniform with black boots, and a red and black armband on one arm. However, the strangest, most horrifying feature of the person who stood before them was that rather than an ordinary face, his entire head seemed to be bright red, and very skull-shaped.

"Vas?" the man exclaimed as the portal closed behind him. Les was furious that his chance had vanished because of that former failure, but at the very least, he was sure the machine worked. That meant he no longer needed the others. When they were all otherwise occupied, he'd be able to make his move.

"Well, well..." Norman Osborn muttered as he walked forward to get a good look at the man that their little time shift device seemed to have entrapped, "The Red Skull, from the looks of him."

"Yes." The Red Skull replied, talking in English as soon as he recognized the language the people around him were speaking, "Where am I? What is this place?"

"A laboratory in New York City." Norman Osborn replied calmly.

"Allied territory." the Red Skull replied, looking a little worried.

"The war ended sixty years ago." Norman replied, clearly with no intention of releasing the man, "The allies were victorious."

"Indeed?" the Red Skull asked, no trace of disappointment in his gaze as he spoke, "Yet, these others obey you without question. Your word seems to be their law."

"The miracle of the almighty dollar." Osborn replied.

"Fascinating." the Red Skull said, truly intrigued, "Perhaps I have judged capitalism too harshly in the past. I suggest you let me out. Your skill in business is obviously great, but I have been known as a master of manipulating the masses. I may be able to help you."

"You're a soldier from an ancient war that's been over for a long time." Osborn replied, "Every person here is a brilliant scientist. Why do I need your help?"

"You underestimate me." the Red Skull replied, "I am a brilliant scientist as well as a strategist, though I need not use those skills unless it's necessary."

"There are still people who remember the holocaust, of course," Norman muttered, "people who survived the concentration camps and remember the horrors you and your Fuhrer did."

"They need never know I still exist." the Red Skull replied, "I could help you."

For a few moments, Osborn looked around the room at the various people gathered there. It was a sharp warning glance, but it didn't really need to happen. Everyone knew that it was most unwise to betray Norman Osborn.

"Maybe." Osborn replied, turning to face the Red Skull again, and drawing a little closer, "But I suspect the person you really want to help is yourself, and that's just the kind of person I most appreciate in my employ; no pesky loyalties to cause confusion. That's what I love about business, you see. It's all simple math. There are no unpredictable factors in business. Just who has money and who doesn't have money. You've manipulated people's emotions in the past, Skull, but we'll see how well you do in my arena."

Then, picking up a nearby telephone, Osborn started dialing.

"What are you doing?" the Red Skull demanded.

"I'm having you moved to a containment cell." Osborn replied, "Greed or no greed, a backstabber is a backstabber."

"Then it was a lie?" the Red Skull demanded, "I'll have no chance to prove my usefulness?"

"Oh, you'll have your chance." Osborn replied, "But it'll be a while before I let you just walk around freely, if I ever do."

The Red Skull scowled at that. He'd made some headway, of course, but Norman Osborn was proving a tough nut to crack, and the Red Skull was eager to see the world again, with eyes free of the filter of another man's mistrust. He glanced around as a team arrived, seeing video surveillance cameras on the walls and ceiling, and so many scientists around, he knew any escape attempt while being so carefully watched would be foolhardy, so instead, he examined the workers as they separated the enclosure he was in from the surrounding machines, loading it onto the back of a motorized, metal platform, and beginning to lead it out of the room. The Red Skull seemed to have just been watching as they did that, but in truth, he'd been feeling the metal links of the enclosure he was trapped in, and knew for a fact that not one would stand up to a bullet, so as he was conveyed down a third metal hallway, the Red Skull made his move, pulling a vial from his pocket, and pouring some of the solution inside onto his hands, then reaching in between the metal links of his cage, and grabbing the shoulders of the guards in front of him. In moments, both guards fell to the ground, convulsing as their faces turned red. They'd be dead in seconds, thanks to the Death Dust Formula to which only the Red Skull himself was immune, but before they could fall, he'd grabbed the guns that hung from their sides, and ducked off to one side of the enclosure, to avoid the weapons of the guards behind the cage, who'd seen what had happened. Soon, the Red Skull had fired several times himself, not only killing both men, but knocking out enough of the links of metal that his boot could liberate him the rest of the way. Once the Red Skull was free of that cage, half his job was done. Getting out of the compound was clearly a hard job too, but armed with effective weapons, and the chance to hide when it became necessary, he was fairly sure that he could accomplish it.

Fitting the guns he had into two loops on his belt, intended for just such a thing, and grabbing the weapons of the other two enemies he'd just killed, the Red Skull ran for his life.

* * *

It had been a while since Donald Blake had thought about the hammer. He'd been keeping it safely at the bottom of his bag for a while, or else lying in his house when he went to work, but he never really gave it much thought until a while later, when business started slowing down, and he had a few extra minutes one morning, after getting a particularly good night's sleep. At that point, Donald Blake remembered the hammer again, and buried it in his bag once more, as he set out for work.

Donald Blake worked at one of the major hospitals of New York City, and was considered a well-respected surgeon. He hadn't always been a surgeon, of course. As a young man, Don had been in the army, and fought in a war. He'd seen the horrors of the battlefield, and it had changed him for good. Tiring of the senseless bloodshed and death, Don had made the decision to combat those things by aiding in the recovery of patients who were badly injured, and some significant college years and a short practice later, he was a surgeon, being hired on by one of the largest hospitals in New York City; his own hometown.

Generally, Don Blake enjoyed his profession. It could be emotionally tiring at times, and the sight of liberated blood was never pretty, but he was happy to be helping those in real, genuine need. He tried to think about the satisfaction he got from really helping patients as often as possible. It was quite a nice thought. In fact, Don thought about it for most of the day, until his shift was over, and he started to head out the door, carrying his bag in one hand and his cane (which he used to help support his leg, which had been injured in the war,) in another. That morning, however, as he entered the hospital, Don could hear someone approaching him from behind, slowing down as they got closer, and turned to see who it was. He was quite pleased, however, to see that it was someone he knew. Her name was Pamela Cook, and although she didn't work at the hospital herself, nor was she, at the moment, a patient, Donald was glad to see her there. He'd met her several months before, when the two had bumped into each other in one of the hallways of the hospital, and they'd become fast friends, soon sharing their hopes, dreams and recent news about their lives and world views; more often the latter than the former, since nothing abnormal ever really happened to either of them. Donald didn't consider his life to really be worth discussing, and neither, it seemed, did Pam. She was social enough, but shy about her private life. It was an unusual combination in anyone, but especially in a woman. Most often, in Blake's experience, women were very open when it came to talking about their lives. In some ways, it was probably that trait about her that had most led them to become friends, as he felt that he could trust her not to tell everyone she met about the things they shared.

"Don!" Pam exclaimed, clearly delighted to see him, "I wasn't sure where you were. I've been trying to get in touch with you all day."

"Did you call my cell phone?" Blake asked, worried.

"I tried to, but you must have turned it off." she replied.

"No, I didn't." Blake muttered, reaching into his bag, and noticing that the cell phone was right on top of the hammer. Quickly, he grabbed it, but the moment he did so, he could see that something was wrong with it. He opened the phone and was amazed to discover that the machine just wasn't working, for some reason. Even the lights on the screen and the buttons weren't lighting up.

"That's strange." Blake muttered, "I know I charged it this morning."

"Well, that doesn't really matter." Pam replied with a smile, "I have a few things I want to talk to you about, if you're not too busy."

"No, actually." Blake said, smiling back, "Quite a few things have been happening to me too."

* * *

Tony Stark smiled as he put on the final piece of his new armor; the helmet. It slid neatly over his head with a soft clang as the micro-generators he'd built for his artificial heart powered up, generating all the power he'd ever need to keep himself alive and far, far more. The lights turned on, and he could see through the suit's helmet using small video surveillance devices that had been built into it. It was finished at last; the ultimate weapon; Iron Man.

The suit fit rather snugly around him, protecting him in multiple layers of metal, and a powerful magnetic stasis device he'd invented. Some parts of the suit bulged a little near the shoulders, chest, back and arms, but it was only because that was where the weapons were concealed. The feet of the suit were also very large and bulky, but they'd been designed to move easily with every motion the suit's rider made. In that case, the rider was Tony Stark. The whole armor was colored gold and bright red on the outside.

Quickly, Iron Man grabbed a laptop from nearby, and held it under one arm, then stepped out of the suit's holding chamber, which Tony had christened Iron Hall, and clapped both heels together once. As soon as he did so, jets of powerful force fired downward from the base of the suit's feet with the deafening sound of a rocket taking off, and Iron Man soon found himself flying freely through the air. Of course, flight of any sort requires a pilot with some skill, but there too, Tony Stark was well-equipped for the job. It wasn't an easy or comfortable ride, but it was unlike anything that anyone had ever done before; flying through the air with only a couple inches of metal between one's skin and the outside world.

Truthfully, Tony Stark had been working on the Iron Man project for quite a while before his encounter with the Hulk, but the imminent danger he'd seemed to be in, and his recent artificial heart transfusion had further encouraged him in the project.

"Now, I just have to show this to the boys at the pentagon." Stark thought to himself, smiling, "They'll probably want hundreds."

However, as he flew through the air, Stark began to notice something. He was having a hard time separating his legs.

Iron Man tapped his fingers sideways, to shift his camera view, and get a better look at his feet. That was when he saw the cord tied to them, binding them together, and the woman dressed in black, hanging from that cord effortlessly with one hand, as if it was something she did every day, her other hand clenched into a fist, probably holding a weapon of some kind.

Swiftly, Iron Man directed his legs forward, to stop his forward momentum, then gradually turned down the power to the jets, to slowly lower himself onto the roof of a nearby parking garage. The woman seemed to take appropriate advantage of that, by bracing both feet against the ground, though she kept hold of the cord.

Quickly, Tony activated the microphone built into the suit and turned up the power again, so that he could make himself heard normally from within the self-contained, mechanical environment he'd designed.

"Have I offended someone?"

"Where is Tony Stark?" the woman demanded, "We need to talk."

"I guess you could always make an appointment." Iron Man replied, not eager to give the woman an answer of any kind.

"You can't brush me off." the woman insisted angrily.

"Watch me." Iron Man replied, opening the palm of his hand. From that palm came one of his many weapons; a magnetic field beam. It had been designed to form magnetic fields around a target, and in doing so, to entrap them in barriers of pure force, but the moment he fired it, the woman leapt to one side, rolling along the ground to avoid the beam, then leapt back upward in a smooth, fluid motion, and threw something at him. The object she'd throw was moving too fast for Iron Man to get decent readings on what it was, or what kind of danger it posed before it impacted with his suit, and he started to see clouds of some green substance flying into the air, recognizing the chemical compound as one of the stronger kinds of acid. Quickly, Tony turned up the power to his personal magnetic field, strengthening the force opposing the acidic compound. His armor alone would offer some protection, but the magnetic barrier made it that much less likely that any of the dangerous chemical would get through.

"Maybe I ought to introduce myself." Tony said from within the suit, "My name is Iron Man. I'm a new type of soldier."

"My name is Widow." the woman replied, "So am I."

Swiftly, Widow tapped a device on her left wrist, and a blast of intense heat flew forth from it, speeding the movement of molecules, which had the unexpected, and most undesired effect of damaging Tony's shielding in two places as well, but he quickly retaliated with two more beams from his hands; those ones repulsor-based, designed to use magnetic force to repel physical matter. Widow dodged one, but the other hit her in the chest, throwing her back so that she needed to grab hold of one side of a nearby parked van, in order to keep from flying off the parking garage completely, and in just a few more moments, Iron Man was on top of her, grabbing both of her arms. Widow tried to kick and swing at Iron Man with a number of unorthodox martial-arts techniques, but his strength was being enhanced by the suit, and his armor made him virtually invulnerable to simple hand-to-hand techniques.

"I don't know what you wanted," Iron Man said as he held the red-haired woman in his grip, "but this isn't the way to get it. I work with Tony Stark for a reason, you know. He's not really a bad guy. He doesn't deserve this kind of assault on his property."

"I'm convinced that Tony Stark is a traitor to this country." Widow replied, "If you care about justice at all, you'll..."

Just then, however, a high-pitched, searing cacophony filled the air, nearly deafening both Iron Man and Widow. Tony was feeling very weak almost instantly, but turned to face the source of the noise; a device being held in the hand of a man, who was wearing a dark violet mask, black pants and a blue shirt. He also had a bow and a quiver of what looked like arrows slung across his back.

"Leave her alone." the man demanded.

"I wouldn't get involved in this if I were you." Iron Man replied offhandedly.

"I said leave her alone!" the masked man exclaimed, louder that time, fingering the sonic device in his hand, at which Iron Man turned to face him, the slots on his shoulders opening, and tiny incendiary weapons arming from inside those slots. The tiny micro-bombs were fired out at their target a fraction of a second later, but that was when the man did something that Iron Man had never seen anyone do before. He was holding a bow in a moment; six arrows fitted to it at once, and they were fired at almost the very moment the mini-missiles left their slots.

The ensuing explosion shook the neighborhood for several blocks around. The man with the arrows had ducked behind a nearby car to escape it, but Widow was in pretty bad shape, and Iron Man's armor seemed to have taken the worst of it.

Struggling to her feet, and clutching one arm, which hung limply at her side, Widow approached Iron Man again, looking furious, then said, "I'm leaving now, but I think you ought to investigate where your boss has been getting his raw materials from. If Tony Stark really is a traitor to his country, as I think he is, and you don't inform the authorities, then I will."

Then, Widow leapt sideways off the roof before anyone could stop her, and by the time Iron Man could get enough of his systems working again to get to his feet, the man with the bow was gone too.

* * *

"Do you need medical help?" Widow heard as she limped away from the parking garage.

"Yes." she replied angrily, "Thanks to you."

"Look," the man with the bow said, "I know I messed up, but is there anything I can do to help? I mean, you seem to pretty much want to do the right thing..."

"Of course." Widow responded, "But in this case, I think I may have made a mistake. Iron Man had no idea what Stark's done, and there's still the possibility that those files were tampered with..."

"I'm asking if I can help get you to a hospital." the man said, a little frustrated by that point.

"Hospitals aren't secure enough. Do you have a car?"

"Yes. It's not far off. Where can I take you?"

"I have an outpost not far from here that I use to store medical equipment, among other things. If I can trust you, and if you can trust me, you can take me there..."

The man wasn't sure what to say, at first. He didn't know that strange woman well enough to trust her, but he'd been using his special skills to get in the way of injustice for a while, partly because he knew he could make a real difference, and partly because, in the end, there was nothing that felt quite as good as using his primary skills for a practical purpose, and what practical purpose was there left for a marksman?

Widow seemed, to him, to be a very similar type of person; a person with incredible skills, who was unsatisfied unless she could use them, and yet, a person who, in a thoroughly-nonviolent society, would find such skills absolutely useless. Did he trust her? Of course not. But... Clint Barton believed in the Widow.

"Alright." he said after only a moment's hesitation, "Where do we have to go?"

* * *

As Donald Blake talked to Pam that evening, he tried his best to keep his mind on what they were talking about, but he was too distracted. The words on the hammer kept flashing across his mind, and he kept fingering it inside his bag, wondering if he shouldn't pull it out and show it to Pam. She did notice that he seemed to be distracted by something, but they were nearing the end of their conversation before she said anything about it.

"Don, are you alright? Is there a..."

Suddenly, there was the sound of a gun being fired, echoing through the neighborhood as Blake's hand grasped the hammer tightly, but he knew it was too late. Someone had died very nearby.

"There it is." Don replied after several seconds, "Pam, it's really upsetting to see people hurt one another. I work with people who've been hurt every day, but although I do get some satisfaction from healing, a part of me still feels angry at my helplessness to prevent their suffering to begin with. I got into medicine because I didn't want to watch helplessly as people die around me, but too often I see people die anyway, because I got to them too late, or their injuries were too extensive. It's disheartening, and it's certainly distracting."

Pam was quiet for several seconds before she replied to that.

"I wish I could do something to help you with those problems, Don. The important thing is to remember that problems aren't all there is to life."

Then, Pam got up from the outdoor bench they'd been sitting at, and Don pulled the hammer out of his bag to take another look at it. For the first time, he read the words on the hammer aloud.

"To the one who knows courage, to the one who knows battle, to the one who knows might. Ye who strike this hammer upon the ground, if ye be worthy... cross the boundaries of mortal flesh and receive the power of the god of thunder."

Then, feeling more curious than skeptical, Blake tapped the end of the hammer against the ground once.

* * *

Pam was very worried about Don. He'd expressed misgivings about his role in the world to her before, but she was confident he'd eventually learn to cope. Part of it was undoubtedly the intense suffering he'd seen in the past. Don needed time to recover from it.

However, as Pam thought about those things, she was distracted, and didn't see the bright blue car turning a corner, while barreling towards her full-tilt, until it was almost on top of her... She didn't even have enough time to scream for help.

Suddenly, however, the car was gone, the road was behind her, her feet were no longer on the ground, and a tall, muscular man with long, blond hair held her in his arms. He was clad in armor, seemingly intended to provide strong protection, without inhibiting his range of movement, and a helmet with sculptures on the sides closely resembling wings. There was a hammer hanging from his belt.

"What?" Pam asked, dizzy from what had just happened.

"Thou didst nearly perish." the man said, "It is the thunder god Thor to whom thou dost owe thy life now."

Pam barely understood the older grammar, but she wasn't sure she liked the tone of Thor's voice. Still, he'd saved her life, and she owed it to him to be grateful.

"Thank you very much." Pam said, trying her best to smile genuinely, "If there's anything I can do to repay you..."

"At present, that seems impossible." Thor replied, frowning, "I doth suffer a terrible banishment, but thou canst do little to undo that. For now, thy gratitude is sufficient. The gratitude and loyalty of mortals was e'er enough for I."

As he spoke, Thor had lowered Pam to the sidewalk, then started to float upwards into the air, taking off slowly for the sky, and was gone, but despite the fact that he'd just saved her life, Pamela Cook had a distinct feeling that she didn't like that 'god of thunder.'

* * *

"I don't believe this." Stark muttered, looking over the shipment files after getting back to his office, then quickly picking up the phone.

"Tina, I need you to get the computer department investigating the Latveria shipment files." Tony said without a moment's hesitation.

"Sir?" Tina asked, "Is there a problem they should be looking for in the Latveria shipment files?"

"The problem is, there shouldn't be any Latveria shipment files." Tony replied, agitated, "All those shipments came from Turkey. I want to know who tampered with my customs data files, when and how."

"I'll get some people right on it, sir." Tina replied, and that was all that needed to be said as Tony Stark put the phone down in anger. Latveria was perhaps the least friendly nation on Earth, but more importantly, there were no diplomatic ties between Latveria and America, which meant that trading with the people of that nation was considered treason. Stark could get out of that if he had to, but he'd feel a lot better being able to prove his innocence. That was a big problem, which he would once have spent a great, long time working to solve.

Still, what was really upsetting Tony Stark at the moment wasn't just that, but the overall failure of his new weapons system. Iron Man had been designed as a perfect, invincible war suit, and while it was certainly very powerful, and loads of fun to fly around in, the idea of describing it with the word "invincible" no longer seemed appropriate, and the worst part was that he had no one to blame but himself. He'd designed it, he'd operated it, and he'd failed. It might still be worth some money to the pentagon, but not enough to justify the expense of manufacturing it on a larger scale. For the moment, Iron Man was a curiosity; nothing more.

"But maybe it just needs a few decent upgrades..." Tony thought aloud, as he stood up and headed for the door, opening it to find Captain America advancing on him rapidly. Both men had to stop quickly to keep from colliding with one another.

"Tony?" Cap said after an awkward moment or two, "I'd like to talk with you for a moment."

* * *

To be continued...


	5. Issue 5: History of Pain Part 2

Note: This tale takes place before Xavier Institute Neo Issue 1, chronologically, but I'm posting it afterwards to explain things that came before. Just wanted to avoid confusion.

* * *

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 5

"History of Pain"

Part 2 of 2

* * *

Doctor Henry Pym smiled as he pushed a switch on the side of his goggles, carefully magnifying his view of the experiment he was examining. The magnifying goggles were his own invention, and of course, they really gave one a good feel for just how complex and brilliant the smaller parts of the universe were, but if he was successful, Henry Pym's latest experiment would give him an even better feel for that.

Seating himself on the chair in the center of the room, Henry Pym activated the machine he'd been working on. He was only going to get one shot at it, but he was sure it would work. All the other lab tests had been working just fine.

Quickly, Henry pulled out the remote control from his pocket and turned on the power. The device powered up and the whole chamber was filled with a brilliant, bright light.

* * *

Janet Van Dyne gazed in irritation at the brightly-shining window of her boyfriend's laboratory. Whatever he'd been doing that evening, in her eyes, it wasn't important enough. She was, of course, thinking of going up to the fourth floor and stepping right into his lab in the middle of his experiment. There were also thoughts going through her head that centered on going back home and ignoring him for a week, but in the end, she decided it would be better to embarrass Henry up front, rather than let him continue on his science escapade for any longer. After disappointing her so badly, he deserved to at least hear about it.

When Janet stepped into Henry's lab, he was looking very odd indeed. His hair was a mess, his clothes were all wrinkled, and he was wearing the strangest pair of goggles she'd ever seen, but on his face was a radiant smile that she was, she decided, going to have to wipe out.

"It works!" he exclaimed, tearing off the goggles, "Janet, it works! After all this time experimenting with the alien particles, I've done it! They're a part of me now."

"I'm sure that's very thrilling." Janet replied, "What exactly does it mean?"

"What does it mean?" Henry exclaimed, still close to laughing with every word he spoke, "What does it mean? It means I can use the hyperspace frequency of the alien particles to alter mass and physical structure as an ordinary body function!"

"And what does that mean?" Janet asked, still scowling at him.

"I can change my own size" Henry replied, calming down after a moment, "and the size of the things I touch. Isn't that incredible! I can duplicate this same process for anyone, too. All they have to do is sit in this chair and turn the power on with the remote that..."

"Can you shrink the amount of time you spent in this lab yesterday?" Janet asked, still scowling.

"Yesterday?" Henry asked, "Why yesterday? I've only been in here for..."

At that point, Henry Pym looked at his watch, and the thrilled smile vanished completely from his face.

"Glad to see you remembered." Janet said angrily, turning to leave, but Henry was next to her in just a moment.

"Janet, I swear, I didn't mean to forget. I just... I lost track of time."

"Yes. I know." she replied, still frowning, "Henry, I don't have to keep doing this, you know. There are lots of other guys out there who crave my attention, and the only reason I've put up with this for as long as I have is because you told me after that first date that you wouldn't be able to stand it if I ever wound up with anyone else. I think you need to decide whether you're willing to do what it takes to earn a real relationship."

"I am. I... I really am..." Henry muttered, clearly embarrassed, "Look, why don't I let you take a turn in the machine? You could..."

"No, Henry." Janet interrupted, looking truly sad as she spoke, "That machine isn't your solution. It's my competition."

Then she left, and after a few moments, Henry slammed one fist against the nearest wall in anger.

* * *

"Tony, what really happened to me in that... that cage of yours?" Captain America asked as he stood in Tony Stark's office, looking out at the pink sunset, "I think I'm ready to hear the whole truth."

For a few moments, Tony didn't say a word. He was deep in thought, trying to come up with some kind of explanation that made sense.

"From the looks of things, the Nazis were trying to develop some kind of time travel device." Tony said at last, "Seems like they almost succeeded, until you showed up and ruined their plans."

"Here's the one thing I don't understand." Captain America replied, turning his stern, grim-looking expression on Tony, "Through the whole war, our scientists and theirs were pretty much neck and neck. In the end, though, it turned out that we were smarter. We apparently developed some new kind of bomb they didn't have, but it was a close call. If they were so close to unlocking time travel, why haven't we discovered it until just now?"

"Well, a lot of that I could explain." Tony replied, "With the advent of computers, people sort of stopped thinking about advancing physical technologies... well, most of them anyway. Plus, since there hasn't been a war since then that genuinely threatened the United States, the push for new weapons technologies sort of faded away, and the manufacturers started making all the money. These days, I think anything stronger than a nuke would probably make manufacturers antsy. They like being paid millions of dollars for the countless missiles they churn out against whoever or whatever the military is sent to fight next."

"But time travel?" Cap asked, "I mean, wouldn't that have great advantages for historians and scientists? I mean, we could learn about our past firsthand... fill in all the blank spots in history textbooks, make archeology completely unnecessary..."

"Or we could destroy everything." Tony replied, "A lot of today's leading theoretical and quantum physicists believe that changing events in the past can impact what happens in the present, even to the point of changing the memories and pasts of whole societies. If misused, that could be the most deadly weapon imaginable. If you don't like a nation; you could just go back in time and kill off its founding fathers..."

For a moment, Captain America seemed to see the point, when Tony described it like that.

"Some technologies are too dangerous, even for people with the best of intentions," Captain America replied after thinking about it for a short while, "and some should be kept secret from the world even if they are invented. I still don't understand how the Nazis managed to advance so far, so fast in their knowledge of time sciences, though."

"Temporal frequency rifts..." Tony clarified, "Somehow, they learned how to create a one-way temporal frequency rift. I'm not sure how they learned how to do that, but it's the only thing I can think of. Then, once you were trapped inside, you could only come out of another temporal rift, which I created with my experiment. Unfortunately, this science really seems to have no practical applications, except maybe for preserving those with terminal illnesses until a cure can be found."

"No." Captain America replied somberly, "You were right, Tony. Time travel is too dangerous. Our technology may not have a means of controlling it yet, but I've seen things during the war that go way beyond technology. We shouldn't even be trying to open any more of these 'rifts' until we're absolutely sure no one is going to misuse them."

Tony grinned a bit when Captain America said that. It put things into perspective for him, not just with respect to the time device he'd been working on, but Tony had been wondering for a while if Iron Man might be too much for mankind, at present. It was definitely possible. The idea of someone obtaining and misusing the Iron Man armor wasn't at all hard to imagine. In fact, Tony realized, the thought of three to five Iron Men completely controlling and dominating any city on Earth produced an image in his mind that was distressingly vivid. It was jarring, in some ways. Not long ago, he'd been worried that his prototype wasn't powerful enough, and yet, it was still too powerful to unleash on the general public.

"Tony, I realize you're not a counselor or psychiatrist of any sort," Captain America said, jarring Tony Stark from his plans for the future, "but this is the strangest thing that's ever happened to me, and that's saying something. When I was in the war, I saw sorcerers and androids and cosmic beings, and a hundred other human and non-human things that would look just right on a comic book page, but this... this is different. I've pretty much just had my whole world yanked out from under me."

"The world's still here." Tony replied, "America's still here. We won, remember?"

Captain America looked very sad when he replied to that, however.

"Tony, I realize you may not be aware of this, but I'm not just a symbol. I'm also a person. In nineteen forty-four, I had companions, allies, friends... loved ones... Tony, all that's gone now. Even... Even the way people think. In the forties, I could count on ideals and forward-thinkers to be there for America. Are there any left in the modern world?"

"Ideals are always there, Cap." Tony replied, "People may not believe in them the way they used to, but that doesn't mean they're gone. You just have to work harder to keep them alive."

"And forward thinkers?" Cap asked.

"Keep looking forward to find one of those." Tony replied with a big smile, drawing a grin from Captain America as well.

"So what's your goal now?" Tony asked after a few seconds, "What's your aim in the modern world?"

"I plan to try to take my mask off for the first time in weeks and make a life for myself here." Captain America replied, "It's the first thing I need to do. Aside from that, I still have my vow to America. I have to continue doing whatever I can to help America, and it desperately needs my help."

"It needs everyone's help." Tony replied, arriving at the most important decision he'd ever make, as the sunset turned to dusk.

* * *

"Daddy?" Janet asked as she closed the big, wooden doors of the Van Dyne manor behind her, stepping quickly inside. She didn't see Vernon Van Dyne anywhere nearby. He hadn't been waiting for her, which meant that he was probably working on some experiment of his own.

"Just my luck." Janet thought with some disappointment, "Being stuck in a life full of the science-obsessed. Still, it keeps the roof from falling down."

At that moment, however, Janet heard the sound of her father shouting not too far off.

"That debt is long repaid! You got yourself into this predicament, and now you can get yourself out!"

"But Vern! Come on! You have to help me! This guy... he doesn't play around!"

It was the voice of another man, probably upwards of forty, like Janet's father was, but it wasn't a voice she recognized. Slowly, Janet inched closer to her father's study and began to listen at the door as her dad calmed down, lowering the volume of his voice to a level that was harder to overhear.

"Marcus, I think you know I can't do this. If you get the funding from me, it'll never end. That's why I terminated our alliance last time, and that's why you shouldn't have come to me now."

"But how am I gonna pay him back?"

"If you don't have any other friends you can rely on, you could always work for it. Or, if you're really afraid for your life, turn yourself in to the police. I'm sure they'll protect you, though they may have to put you in prison to do it."

Janet had never heard her father talking so sternly with any of his business partners or former associates before. It was strange and terrifying, and yet, for some reason, it didn't surprise her. The idea of her father laying down the law with a former business partner who needed help really seemed so easy to believe when she was faced with it like that, and that only made it all the more horrible to listen to.

"I'm wasting my time here." she heard Marcus say, and moved over quickly, into the next room across the hallway, as a man emerged from her father's study in a hurry, wearing jeans and a cheap-looking shirt. He had jet black hair and he looked terrified and desperate, and he left the study door open as he stormed out of the Van Dyne manor.

Janet heard the study door being closed again from within, and leaned against a nearby wall, suddenly full of worry; not worry over her father's actions, but over her own. In the past, of course, her father had spoiled her. He'd given her all sorts of wonderful things in her childhood, teenage years and into adulthood with the fruits of his research and the help of his friends in the scientific community, of which Henry Pym had only been one of the most recent, but although she'd always known he had a firmer side; a side that was ready to make big, difficult decisions, she'd never seen it in action before. Suddenly, the very idea of approaching him and looking to him for sympathy over the problems she and Henry were having seemed so petty and inappropriate.

"Could it really be," Janet began to wonder, "that the amazing things I've been taking for granted are all bought like this? By disappointing others?"

The thoughts gave Janet a lot to consider as she went upstairs to her room.

* * *

Thor cried aloud in delight as he soared through the air like a bullet, taking miles upon miles at a time. It was ordinary fare for him, but he'd been waiting quite some time for the opportunity to attempt it, or to even walk along the ground, or grasp his hammer in his hand, or to fight... Yes, battle. Thor had nearly forgotten that as well. Watching carefully from the sky, the mighty Thor looked out at the city underneath him until he spotted what he'd been looking for, and landed with a crash next to the mugger with the gun. He was a man in a blue ski mask, with a brown jacket and blue jeans on. The people he was aiming at were scared and alarmed, as much by Thor as by the mugger. A man, a woman and a child, all with brown hair were the victims of the crime, each wearing what looked like decently-priced clothing, though honestly, Thor couldn't tell the difference.

Instantly, Thor's entire body began to glow bright blue, and the mugger dropped his gun and started to run, but it was too late. A bolt of lightning struck out from the end of Mjolnir, and the mugger fell to the ground, utterly senseless, but not yet dead.

"Dost thou wish me to finish this varlet?" Thor asked the family, but the woman and child were too terrified to reply. The man, however, spoke up.

"No. Don't kill him. You've done a very heroic thing for us, but to take his life for what he did wouldn't be right."

Thor seemed confused by that reply, but he shrugged his shoulders and left the mugger where he lay, then flew back into the air again.

"'Tis a strange world indeed, where battle ends before the killing blow." Thor muttered as he flew through the air, "Still, 'tis a world with much to offer; a world where mortal men and women still fear the gods. Perhaps, in time, they could be taught to do battle again, just as they did in days long past."

However, that was when the mighty Thor felt the hammer in his hand changing, and gazed with fear into the edge of Mjolnir. On one side, the incantation was written, but on the other, new words were forming.

"I won't let you do that. When people fight hard for peace, they deserve the chance to enjoy it."

"And what wouldst thou do to stop a being such as Thor?" Thor asked the hammer aloud. Just as he said that, however, he knew he'd made a mistake. He could feel his power draining away, and his godlike strength vanishing, and in a fraction of a second more, he transformed completely in mid-air over the city, and was Donald Blake again, still holding the old Norse hammer, and that was when he started falling. Down towards the pavement below Donald Blake fell. Without the power of Thor, he could no longer fly, or survive such a fall, and without ground to strike his hammer against, he couldn't turn back, not that he wanted to if Thor was really as barbaric as he seemed. Donald Blake didn't wish to unleash an old, savage, self-righteous god upon the world, even if it meant his life. If only, he thought, Thor could have been a hero...

But when he was only a few yards from the pavement below, Donald Blake felt something hard and metallic collide with his back, and something else of the same structure hit the back of his legs. His head jerked back from the impact, and he was out cold in moments.

* * *

As soon as Donald Blake opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the face of Anthony Stark looking back at him, and that face was full of suspicion.

"So..." Stark said, "Want to tell me how you managed it?"

"Ma-managed what?" Don asked, slowly climbing into a sitting position in bed, "I thought I was go... was going to die."

"You almost did." Tony replied, still looking stern, "But at the last second, one of my employees was able to rescue you."

"How?" Don asked, shaking his head to try to get rid of the cobwebs.

"Alright." Tony replied, "Let's make a deal. If you tell me how you wound up in free-fall beyond leaping distance from any building or aircraft, I'll tell you who my employee was."

"...I don't really understand it myself." Don muttered, "But I... I had a hammer."

"Yes, it's over there." Tony replied, pointing to a nearby table, where the ancient Norse hammer lay; the words of the enchantment still on one side of its head, "That's an interesting little prophecy, promising the power of a thunder god to those who are worthy."

"It is." Don replied, nodding, but not ready to admit to his participation in the incident.

"It's also interesting that a mugger in an alleyway a few miles from where we found you was rushed to this very hospital with burns all over his chest. The doctors say he was struck by lightning, and the family he was attacking claims that the lightning came from the end of a hammer, wielded by a figure wearing battle armor... Isn't that incredibly hard to believe?"

By that point, however, Don knew that he didn't have any way out. Lying to Stark wouldn't accomplish anything anymore.

"Well, since you know all that, I guess the rest is obvious." Don said, frowning as he raised one hand, holding it out in the direction of the hammer. Instantly, the hammer rose from the table, and as Stark watched in astonishment, it flew through the air, coming to rest in Blake's hand.

"When I strike this hammer against the ground..."

"You receive the power of Thor; the Norse thunder god." Stark finished.

"It's more than that." Donald replied, "For a while, I actually become Thor. I can feel his strength of will; his craving for battle; his very personality flowing through me, and for a while, he's in complete control... But I guess that I can regain full control at any point I want, just by wishing to turn back. Like I discovered today, though, that can have dire consequences."

Stark nodded slowly as Don stood up, still holding the hammer.

"Now, about my employee..." Stark explained, "His name is Iron Man. He's the pilot of the most advanced weapons system in America, which I've been working on for a while. I originally intended Iron Man it to be an invincible warrior, but from the sound of things, I may have some competition."

"Well, not all that glitters is gold." Don replied with a grin, "Thor isn't exactly a hero."

"Hero or no hero, he's really very interesting." Tony replied, "It's the third time in as many months I've seen something this bizarre."

"Yes, about that." Don replied, looking a little nervous, "I plan to try to avoid using Thor from now on, and I'd appreciate it if you kept it a secret."

"Done." Tony replied at once, shaking Don's hand, "In exchange, I'd like you to keep Iron Man a secret for now. I'm afraid if his involvement with my company became public knowledge, it might lead to some bad publicity, or even investigations by the U.S. government, which I really don't need."

"Alright." Donald replied with a smile, "That's fair."

Then, however, Don seemed to realize something, and looked very curious again as he spoke, recalling something he'd read in a newspaper not long ago.

"You said you'd seen other strange things. I'm going to assume that Hulk character was one of them."

"Yes..." Tony replied with a grin, "He was the first."

"If you don't mind my asking, what else?"

"Well, this has probably been in the papers by now too, but a little while back, there was an experiment in temporal causality, and I found a person who hasn't been seen since nineteen forty-four. I'm sure you've heard of Captain America."

"Who hasn't?" Don asked, amazed, "He was a legend. Do you mean that he's here?"

"Not at this hospital. No." Tony replied, "But I gave him a cell phone, so I can contact him if I need to. He's alive and well in good ol' two thousand and seven, though."

"Amazing." Don replied, "I take it that's no big secret."

"I wouldn't have told you if it were." Stark replied with a slightly empty grin.

"So, do I have to fill out any paperwork before I can leave, or..." Don asked, bringing a more genuine grin to Tony's face.

"It's all taken care of, Doctor." he said, moving into the waiting area, where the television was tuned to the news, and many of the hospital's regular patrons, especially the older men and women, were staring in wonder and delight at the images on the television. As Tony watched with them, he could see why.

"...ironically led to a large-scale bust of over a dozen known felons and fifteen more accomplices, as well as the confiscation by the police of over fifty pounds of illegal drugs. Officer Cain Lorde of the New York City police force attributed the success of the bust largely to the assistance of a man dressed in blue, carrying a shield, which he used to stop the bullets of the enemy once the firefight started. Unfortunately, this victory for law and order comes at a high price. Noted physicist Vernon Van Dyne, and the individual known as Marcus Porter, who was suspected to have broken into Doctor Van Dyne's house uninvited, and has been positively linked to the drug ring, were both found dead, the bottom halves of their bodies crushed in a way that seemed designed to resemble a large, reptilian footprint. This type of..."

"Wow." Tony muttered as he pulled his own cell-phone out of his pocket, and started dialing Captain America's number. The interesting things just kept piling up, and it was certainly something he wanted to know more about.

* * *

It felt a little strange putting the Iron Man armor on again after so recently thinking of it negatively in so many different ways. Still, Tony had a feeling that the incident at the Van Dyne manor represented more than just a simple crime to be solved; perhaps even a danger as great as the Hulk. If that was true, checking it out was the only decent thing he could do.

Naturally, Iron Man's arrival on the scene caused something of a stir. He'd been seen once or twice at various places in New York already, but it was the first appearance he'd made that was being broadcast on television. Captain America had returned to the scene to show the new arrival what he'd found, and had informed the camera crews that someone new would be arriving to investigate; someone calling himself Iron Man.

As soon as Iron Man made the scene, cameras and forefingers pointed upward towards him, and Captain America smiled, as Iron Man descended to land only a few yards away from him.

"Are you Iron Man?" Captain America asked, holding out his hand for the armored man to shake.

"That's right." Iron Man replied, grateful for the device inside his armor that disguised his voice, "You don't seem as shocked as everyone else."

"Well, this may sound a little strange." Cap replied, "But as soon as I found out I was in the year two thousand and seven, you were the first kind of person I expected to see. People had bigger dreams for the future during the forties."

"Oh, that's right." Iron Man replied, trying his best to pretend he wasn't familiar with Cap's most recent adventure, "You were around during the second world war. Well, we should probably get this over with. I don't want to become a third wheel when the mourners arri..."

But Iron Man was soon to find that it was too late for that. Janet Van Dyne had pulled up to the mansion in her car and rushed forward with tears flowing freely from her eyes, screaming "Daddy! Daddy, no!"

Iron Man stepped to one side, so that Janet could get by, but Captain America didn't step aside.

"Excuse me, miss." he said, stopping her.

"Let me go! Let me in! He's my father!"

"Miss, I'm afraid this is a crime scene. If you go in there, I have to ask you not to disturb anything."

"Let me through! This is none of your business!"

"She's right." Iron Man replied, "This isn't your business, Cap. It's police business. You and I are just here as concerned civilians, for the moment. Let's not take this too far."

Captain America seemed very confused for a moment, but he nodded and stepped aside, letting Janet rush into the mansion, and Iron Man had absolutely no intention of going in until she came out, nearly half an hour later, tear-formed streaks running down her face.

"How... how did it happen?" She asked in a truly miserable voice, though she seemed to have cried all she was going to.

"As far as I can determine, your father was working on some kind of machine in his lab, when Marcus Porter arrived and the two got into a fight." Captain America said sadly, "After that, I'm not sure what happened, but both were crushed to death by something."

"What?" Janet demanded, "What was it? Oh, this is... this is... so unfair... The last thing I thought about him was... that he... that I was too petty, and he was always providing for me, and now..."

Iron Man and Captain America both seemed to think it would be disrespectful to reply to that.

"Do you think you can find out what killed him?" Janet asked, sizing the situation up almost instantly.

"Miss, I'm sure our police force is efficient and capable." Captain America began.

"But regardless, I have technology they lack." Iron Man finished, "I'm pretty sure I'll find something."

Janet seemed a little unsure of herself for a moment, but then, she said "I want to be there when... I want to see what it was."

Iron Man and Captain America walked into the house first, but as Janet was about to follow them, she rested her hand for a moment on the door frame, and felt a sharp pain across her palm. Quickly, she drew her hand back, but it had only been the sting of a bee that had been resting on the door frame. Still, it was a pain that would linger for a while as Janet passed through the open doorway towards her father's lab.

The wreckage of Vernon Van Dyne's lab looked like a war zone. One wall and part of the ceiling looked like they'd exploded outward, and the gigantic footprint in the center of the lab didn't look much less menacing, despite the removal of the two familiar corpses by the police.

"Is the roof safe?" Janet asked, looking upward, half expecting the whole rest of the ceiling to come crashing down on top of them. Iron Man looked up in response, then shortly replied "Yes. The ceiling's suffered a great deal of structural damage by being pushed outward by something very large, but it was built well enough that we're not in any danger from falling debris."

A few police officers were still at the scene, but by that point, they were mostly just digging through the dust around the room's edges, so Iron Man began examining the footprint carefully, switching various onboard devices on and off as he moved. All of the devices he was using, however, had the same function; allowing Iron Man to see things beyond the range of normal visible light, and after varying his visible input for about fifteen seconds, he found what he'd been searching for.

"Uh-oh." Iron Man muttered, though everyone there heard his words, and looked to him for an explanation; even the police.

"There's some kind of radiation here, only visible pretty far along the spectrum of ultraviolet light."

"Radiation?" Captain America asked, "Isn't that lethal to humans?"

"In very large doses, yes." Iron Man replied, "This is so faint, though, I almost missed it. It's only residual radiation, which may complicate things."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Cap asked.

"Yes, for us. But whatever left this radiation is definitely a very real thing, and wherever it goes, it's guaranteed to leave a trail. That means we can track it by its radiation trail, but if we do, we have no way of knowing what could be at the other end. It might be a person with a big radioactive machine, or it might be a monster of some kind."

"I don't know if this helps any..." Janet muttered, "But before he... before now, my father told me he was working on some way to reach another reality or something like that."

"Maybe something from that other reality reached back," Captain America replied, "and Marcus distracted him so much, he didn't see it until it was too late."

"Any creature that can do this kind of damage has to be found and stopped in a hurry." Iron Man replied, "If it's capable of intelligent communication, that could make our job easier, but if not, we may need to destroy it to protect ourselves from it."

"Let me come with you." Janet replied, drawing the attention of both Iron Man and Captain America, "I have to see this thing for myself."

"That might be a mistake." Cap replied after a moment's hesitation, "We don't even know what this thing is yet, but we do know it's dangerous."

"I don't care how dangerous it is." Janet replied furiously.

"I know you're angry," Cap said as he stepped a little closer to her, "I know you want this thing to pay for what it did, and believe me when I say we'll do everything we can to make sure it doesn't hurt anyone else, but having you there would only give it another target. I'm not even sure I should be following it."

"Unless you have some way of turning yourself invisible," Iron Man said, "I'm afraid the answer's no."

That was when Janet remembered something very important, which she'd brushed off not long ago as being merely an obstacle, and fled the building without a word. Iron Man took off into the air after only a moment more, and Captain America followed him as fast as he could.

* * *

"Henry!" Janet exclaimed as she barged into his lab to find him sleeping in one of the office chairs. He started awake as soon as she'd entered, carefully catching his balance on the nearest desk before really coming to grips with who it was that had jarred him out of his sleep.

"Janet." He said, "Thank God you came back. I... I have to tell you..."

"No, Henry." Janet insisted, "Daddy's dead."

"Dead?" Henry asked, registering the shock somewhat more slowly, "Vernon... dead? How... how could that happen?"

"Some mob grunt got in his way during an experiment. Captain America was there."

"Captain America?"

"He says he thinks daddy was killed by a monster, and it might still be out there, but if I even want to see that thing's final moments, I need to be able to turn invisible."

For a moment, Henry looked crestfallen as she said that.

"Is... is that why you came to me? I mean, you came to me because you needed my help to..."

"No..." Janet insisted, trying her best to cover what she'd accidentally made it sound like, "Henry, I did come here so that you could help me find Daddy's killer, but it wasn't just that."

Then, Janet grabbed Henry Pym by the shoulders and gave him a great big kiss then and there.

"I'll forgive and forget if you will." Janet said as soon as she'd let him go.

"Deal!" Henry replied, his mouth wide open in delight, "Sit in the chair. I'll turn on the machine."

"So, what exactly does this do?" Janet asked as she seated herself quickly.

"Exactly; it infuses your entire body with these particles, which are of alien origin. For the moment, I'm calling them Pym Particles, since I have the only known supply right here with me. Then, it links them to your brain and central nervous system, so that you can control their abilities like moving a muscle or a limb. That way, you can tell the particles to make you larger or smaller, and they will. You can tell them to make a chair you're touching larger or smaller, and they will. That's how it works with me, anyway."

The lights turned on, and the machine activated as Henry Pym spoke about his brilliant discovery, then a brilliant, blinding light filled the room, shining out from the windows in a stunning radiance, just as it had before.

However, there was something wrong. As Henry Pym watched the experiment as carefully as he could, with a bright light shining all around, the light began to turn pink, then red, then purple. Henry hadn't seen that kind of reaction before, and rushed to the nearest computer terminal, shielding his eyes as he did so.

"Jan?" he asked, "Something's wrong! There seems to be non-human DNA in your body. Did you touch any animals since your last shower?"

"Well, I did get stung by a bee, but..." Janet tried to explain, but it was too late. The Pym Particles were reacting.

Janet Van Dyne screamed as bolts vanished from Henry's machine, and metal plates grew to the size of wagon wheels, spilling blinding radiance out of every part of the device. At last, the power cord's end expanded to nearly six inches wide, and the machine shut down. Almost at once, Henry scrambled to his feet and began scanning various points in the room with a box-like device.

"Henry, I... I'm sorry. I should have told you." Janet tried to say, but Henry shook his head.

"No." he said, "This was my fault. I should have checked to make sure you only had human DNA on your person. You couldn't have known."

As he said that, however, Pym put away the device he'd been holding.

"Well, the good news is, the particles seem to have bonded to you successfully, and you only have one DNA sequence at the moment. You seem perfectly stable, so far."

"Gee, you sure know how to flatter a girl." Janet replied a little sarcastically, "What's the bad news?"

"The bad news is that there's no sign of any Pym Particles in the air where the device just was. Apparently, they didn't like being applied to two different types of DNA at once, and self-destructed."

"So you don't have any more left?" Janet asked, "If it didn't work, there's no way we could do this again?"

"No." Henry replied, "I have a few Pym Particles left in canisters in the supply room, but without the prototype... there's no way I could use them. I'd have to start all over from square one. Construction, testing, everything. It could take weeks to finish, even if I was sure I had enough particles for the experiments. I'm pretty sure I don't."

"So we're it." Janet muttered, "We're the only ones who can do this..."

"If it worked." Henry reminded her.

"Yes!" Janet remembered, "I still have to find out if I can shrink down. Shrink!"

Janet said and thought that word at the same time, extra loud, so that the particles would know to react, but nothing happened.

"Grow!" she exclaimed, but still nothing.

"Change! Transform!" Jan almost shouted, and that seemed to produce a result. Janet found the world around her growing larger, and felt her shirt becoming tighter and tighter. At last, there was a tearing noise, and Janet could feel the tension lessening in her back and chest area, as if some long, thin blade had torn through the back of her shirt, and when, at last, she was smaller than the casters that the chair was set on, she got a good look at herself and gasped.

"I... I have wings!" Janet said in amazement.

"Looks that way." Henry replied, having shrunk down to her size as she'd transformed, "Strange. It must have been the bee DNA."

"As long as I don't have a craving for honey, I should be alright, though. Right?" Janet asked.

"I suppose so," Henry replied, "but nothing like this has ever happened to anyone before. I'd prefer to be allowed to run several dozen tests on you, but I have a feeling you won't..."

"No way!" Janet interrupted, carefully practicing flapping her wings as she spoke, "I'm going to go see that monster that killed my father, and if I can, I'm going to help Captain America and his friend Iron Man take it out. Want to come along?"

"I guess I might as well." Henry replied with a smile, then rolled up his sleeves, revealing what looked like long bracelets there, and held down a button on one of them. In only a few seconds, a pair of ants with wings flew in the window, and Janet started to flap her own wings faster, backing away from them, but Henry hurriedly said "No, no. These ants are here to help me."

Carefully, Doctor Pym climbed onto the back of one of the ants, and encouraged Janet to climb on the other.

"No thank you!" Janet replied, "I'm not riding on an ant. I'd rather walk, even at this size, and I can probably fly anyway."

"Suit yourself." Henry replied as Janet spread her wings again, and beat them as fast as she could, swiftly taking off from the ground. In took a while before Janet could get the hang of flying, but when she did, she followed Henry through the window and was able to catch up to him before they reached their mutual destination.

* * *

Iron Man checked his radiation scanners for the fiftieth time as he continued to follow the trail of radioactivity that had led from the Van Dyne manor into the woods outside of town. Following the creature's path through the woods wouldn't have been that difficult, even if it hadn't left a radiation trail, though, since many trees had been knocked over by it, but Iron Man preferred to be on the safe side. After all, there was always the chance that some other large creature or machine had been through there.

Iron Man was flying for about fifteen minutes before he came within sight of the creature, and he had to admit that it was certainly one of the strangest creatures he'd ever seen, with a large, fang-filled mouth like a velociraptor and four big, thick feet like a stegosaur. It was definitely still giving off radiation, but it was no more harmful than ordinary sunlight. The real threat was the beast itself.

To compare its size to that of a dinosaur might be somewhat generous to dinosaurs. It was clearly over fifty feet high, and watching carefully and, Stark thought, hungrily, as Iron Man approached, circling the beast. He could see, rotating around it from many angles, that it had a long, thick tail, probably useful as a club, four legs on which it walked, and two additional appendages shaped like arms, except with spiked balls instead of hands. Both its spikes and fangs looked very sharp, in addition to the sword-like blade running out of its forehead; apparently some kind of horn.

After Iron Man had circled the beast a few times, the creature following his motions seemed to shake its head once, then became enraged, lunging at Iron Man with its jaws. He was just barely able to pull back in time to avoid getting hit, but it clearly saw him as an enemy, and if it was intelligent, it was giving no sign. That meant that Iron Man had to subdue it somehow.

Quickly, Iron Man turned on the magnetic repulsors in the armor's gauntlets, and began using them to fire magnetic force blasts at the creature, knocking it back away from himself. As he started to gain ground on the beast, he pushed forward with the jets on his feet, and continued to deliver several more blows, but when he was close to knocking the beast over, the creature retaliated swiftly with its tail, striking the magnetic force barrier that surrounded Iron Man's armor, then finishing up the attack by slamming both of its fist-maces together from either side.

Iron Man had never been hit that hard by anything. It had taken out his magnetic force barrier almost completely, and his ears were still ringing from the vibrations that impact had sent through the air. He'd have to add a sonic screen to the armor later, if he could. Still, the armor itself had survived the attack without a single dent as he plummeted downward, quickly reactivating his jets, just in time to rocket sideways, out of the way of the monster's foot, which had been about to crush him. Whatever that creature was, it meant business.

* * *

"That's it?" Janet asked, horrified, "That's the thing that killed Daddy? It's horrible. Did you see how it just... Ugh. Poor Iron Man."

"If I could stop that monster, I would," Henry said, "but short of sending a swarm of ants after it, or maybe turning into a gian... Say..."

Henry Pym immediately stood upright on the flying ant underneath him, then leapt forward, and Janet screamed as he did so, until she saw that as he fell towards the ground, he was growing larger and larger, until he towered to a height of fully one hundred feet, even larger than the creature, though not as well-armed. If nothing else, Janet felt like he had a fighting chance.

Quickly, the incredible giant man that Henry Pym had become rushed the creature, ducking under its first attack with its spiked fists and delivering an uppercut to its chin, causing its head to spin back around, and some sort of green fluid to escape from its lips. The fluid was probably monster blood, though it was hard to tell, considering how little they knew about the thing. Captain America was in the woods below, watching the fight, amazed, yet still looking hard for weaknesses as Henry grabbed the monster bodily, and threw it backwards into the woods, crushing several more trees, but the creature's scaly hide was protecting it from that sort of attack, and pretty soon, it had used its tail to right itself, kicking out with two of its four legs, then striking with its arms. Henry hadn't been prepared to defend himself from kicks from a four-legged creature, and it caught him off guard. His human flesh broke easily under the sharp spikes of the alien thing, and he fell to the ground, bleeding. The monster was about to advance for the kill, however, when Iron Man recovered from his own disorientation, and drove the creature back with another repulsor beam, which after only a brief moment, it recovered from, and began to focus on Iron Man again.

As the monster chased Iron Man again, Janet flew down to land on Henry's face. His chin had a shallow gash in it, and he had several bloody holes in his chest. Janet wasn't sure if he'd wake up or not. As she stood on the end of his nose, looking down at him in sadness, she moaned to herself, "It took my father. I swear, Henry, if it's taken you too..."

Tiny tears emerged from her eyes, though Henry barely felt them when they hit his nose.

"I just want to kill it!" Janet remarked, "I want to reach up from here and take its life in my hand..."

Janet gasped just then, however, because something was happening that she hadn't foreseen.

As Janet had reached her hand towards the monster, something had appeared beside her, and another thing beneath her, then another right in front of her. Soon, they were appearing all around her; floating balls of light. When she gasped and pulled back, they faded at once, but she couldn't have known what they were; at least not at first.

However, when she tried it again, summoning up her anger at the creature, and directing all that emotion at her enemy, Janet saw the same thing happening again, and again, they faded when she thought of other things. What, she wondered, could those strange, glowing orbs be?

Then, in a flash, Janet began to understand, as she recalled the legends of the ancient monks of Tibet, Africa and China, who called upon the power of life and the mind to accomplish feats of miraculous healing, to move objects through the air, and even to attack.

Janet had always thought such powers were impossible, even though she'd heard her father refer to them more than once over the years, but then, the common bumblebee is said to be scientifically incapable of flying, and yet it does... Whatever had given her the wings of a bee... had it also unlocked more of her potential as a human; more of what humans are capable of?

In that moment, Janet knew what she had to do, and her attention grew into focus again, as she held out her hand towards the monster; the baubles of light appearing all around her; gravitating towards her hand as she felt something growing inside of her. No, not quite inside her, so much as something monstrous from outside herself falling more and more under her control, and as the baubles coalesced into a single bright orb in the middle of her hand, she opened her hand all the way, forcing her palm outward, as if trying to dislodge it, and the orb of power shot towards the monster like a bullet, exploding on its skin in a blast several times the size of any ordinary man. Janet was amazed as she watched the monster roaring in pain and rage. A small part of its scales had been blown off by the attack, and it was flailing about in anger, but Iron Man seemed to get the worst of that, being knocked to the ground by one of its arms. That time, he could feel that something in the armor had been damaged.

Janet took to the air and tried to fire the power blast again, but the monster had noticed her, and in a flash, its mouth opened and a spray of green fluid emerged, sticky and wet, covering Janet completely. As she tried to break free, however, the monster turned to face Iron Man again, and that was when Captain America made his move.

Rushing forward, Captain America leapt upward onto the monster's foot, and started to use its scales as handholds, climbing upward along its leg until he reached the bare spot in its flesh, then jammed his shield into it horizontally, causing green blood to spray out of that wound, knocking Cap and his shield back down off the creature to the forest floor. He could feel that he'd broken something in the fall, but they'd probably all be dead in moments anyway. The monster was in pain; perhaps even dying, but it was flailing around even more than before, and since all four of them were on the ground at its feet, barely able to move...

Tony knew he had only one choice, and he didn't like having to request help, but obviously, they needed it. Activating the portable telephone line that he'd built into his Iron Man helmet, Tony prayed that it would be picked up before the monster got its wits together, or stepped on one of them in its fury.

"Don Blake, MD."

"Don? It's Iron Man. I need your help."

"My help? With what?"

"Right now I'm at the feet of a fifty-foot monster, and I think a mutual friend of ours might be needed to..."

"I told you, I'm never..."

"Don, I'm about to die! I don't have time to get into a debate with you over this!"

Then, Tony hung up, hoping that would be sufficient to encourage Don to do what he had to.

* * *

Donald Blake's normally-steady hands were trembling as he hung up the phone and stared, horrified at the end table next to his desk, where he'd put the hammer. At first, he hesitated, then scrambled for it, but stopped just before he was about to strike it against the floor.

"From now on," he said aloud, while staring at the side of the hammer with no writing on it, "When I say land, because I'm about to change back, you do. If we can develop some kind of arrangement like that, I think I might agree to transform more often. Is it a deal?"

Then, he watched in amazement as a single word appeared on the hammer's blank face.

"Aye."

Feeling that he'd regret it later, Donald Blake struck his hammer against the floor of his study...

* * *

The monster found itself being struck from the front with such force that it was driven away from those who'd wounded it, and another being had appeared before it. It hung in the air, just like the other one had, and was no larger, but...

Just then, the monster saw something that frightened it terribly. As the being with the hammer stood in mid-air before it, the creature began to feel that there was something truly vast nearby... Then, a bolt of lightning flashed through the clouds in the distance, and for a fraction of a second, the creature was shown an image that horrified it, for it was the man with the hammer, hundreds of feet high, folding both arms with a stern expression on his face. Then, just as quickly, the image was gone, and the man with the hammer was small again, though he still had the same look in his eyes. There was another look there too, however; a look of eagerness. Thor sought the chance for a true battle; a fight to shake the heavens.

The monster, maddened with pain and rage by that point, had little choice but to comply.

The thunder rumbled and the lightning flashed as the monster struck out with its many extremities, pouring all its strength into each blow as Thor did the same. Thor was faster, and the creature panicked, but Thor also had the people below to worry about, which were certainly no concern of the monster. Thor fought with powerful blows, knocking the monster back and forth, and being struck from many angles, in many different directions himself. Iron Man had fought the monster with powerful attacks recently, of course, but although Iron Man had had the sheer power needed to compete with a creature such as that one, he had absolutely no experience in fighting on that scale, and Thor was a warrior born, zipping back and forth out of range of the monster's attacks, and striking even harder whenever it showed a sign of weakness.

As the sounds of the blows of both combatants reached the ears of the others like thunder themselves, Janet had continued trying to get free, using the energy technique she'd just recently discovered to peel away the goop surrounding her, but it was gumming up her wings, which meant that, for a while at least, there was no way she could fly.

"But if I can use my power the way they do in Tibet..." Janet thought, as a new realization dawned on her, "To heal..."

Swiftly, Janet ran towards Henry, and began to direct her power downward, thinking with gentle kindness about his wounds...

* * *

Thor was finding the monster to be a very challenging fight. It was definitely very well-armed, and knew how to make full use of its body for attack and defense. More importantly, although it was clearly weakening, it was also starting to learn his technique, trying to find a weakness. Eventually, the monster managed to catch him from one side with its tail, getting past his defenses, and knocking him to the ground, where his body created a massive ditch before he got back up again. That was when he saw Iron Man, running towards him.

"Iron Man." he said, surprised, "Thou art uninjured."

"Mostly." Iron Man replied, "My armor took a nasty beating when that thing hit me, though. I can't fly anymore, for now."

"Aye." Thor replied, seeing Henry Pym carrying Captain America away from the fight, not far off, "'Tis a worthy foe, even to one who has been to Jotunheim. Blows such as these are a rare thing indeed."

"Are you saying you need help?" Iron Man asked, amazed.

"Thor is mighty enough for any foe." Thor replied, his ego rushing forward to fill his wounds, "Still, even the mightiest warrior may benefit from a plan of battle."

"Well, yeah. That sounds about right." Iron Man replied, "You know, this thing seems vulnerable underneath the scales."

"Aye." Thor replied, "But the scales hold fast when I doth strike them, even with Mjolnir, and this beast will not die from the minor wound thou hast made already."

Iron Man was glad to have gotten the opinion of someone who knew a thing or two about giant beasts, but what he really needed was some way of getting the rest of those scales off. He could see that Captain America's injuries were largely healed, and he was walking towards them with a slight limp.

"Cap, we need some way to blast the scales off that thing." Iron Man said, "Any suggestions?"

"That woman who blew the scales off that creature before is Janet, believe it or not, but she can't help us anymore." Captain America replied, "She says there's no way she can blast enough scales off at once to make a decent target point, even if we knew exactly where its vital points were."

"I could fire a magnetic beacon into it from its open wound if I could get close enough," Iron Man said, "but without more power, there's no way it could..."

Suddenly, a light turned on in Tony Stark's head with a click.

"Thor, how much electricity can you create?" Iron Man asked.

"Enough for thy purposes, I assure thee." Thor replied.

"That's it, then." Captain America said, "You're going to do the same kind of thing you did to me... create a magnetic field inside this creature and increase the power."

"Exactly." Iron Man replied, "If I'm right, we'll either send it further into the future, when we'll probably be better prepared to deal with it, or else create a magnetic shockwave that'll destroy it from within."

"Either way, we shall have our victory." Thor replied with a broad smile, as he took to the air again, "My target shall be the mouth. Do not fail in doing thy part!"

"Cap..." Iron Man said, "If you're still in any condition, we may need your help distracting it."

Captain America nodded. He was determined to do all he could.

* * *

As Iron Man ran around the monster, trying to get closer to the weak spot, it continued to rotate, furiously chasing him. Thor was holding back for the moment, forming electricity within his body, as he waited for the right moment to strike, so the beast was dwelling on Iron Man at the time, which was the last thing he wanted.

Janet had used up nearly all her power healing Henry and Captain America. She could tell because she was starting to feel exhausted, as if she'd just run a marathon and done a hundred thousand jumping jacks. Still, she knew she had to do the best she could, and reached out with her hands, firing another blast of power from her palm. This one was much weaker, unfortunately, and did no visible damage at all to the beast, but it tired her out immensely, causing her to collapse to the ground, and that was when Captain America leapt in front of her, drawing the monster's attention.

As soon as Cap was sure that the creature had recognized him as its target, he was off as fast as he could go away from it, leaving Janet to find cover. The beast followed behind with its monstrous steps, nearly catching up to him several times, but it gave Iron Man the chance he needed. Quickly, Tony ran around to the side of the beast, and fired his magnetic beacon into the monster's body through its wound, listening to the electricity crackling, as Thor descended on the monster with a shout as loud as a tornado, causing the beast to stare up at him, and roar in response. Then, Thor made his move, countless volts of electricity plunging down into the monster's mouth, searing it from the inside until it made contact with the magnetic beacon, and the field formed inside the creature, growing larger and larger as it did so...

* * *

"Sir, there's bad news regarding the downtown drug ring, I'm afraid." one of the mob higher-ups reported in person.

"Oh? What news would that be?" his employer asked.

"Well, it's been... arrested sir."

"What? The entire ring?"

"Yes, sir. They say it was Captain America."

For a few seconds, neither man said another word, but at last, it was the one signing the paychecks who spoke.

"This is indeed bad news, my friend. It means that I once again have an opponent. I should have suspected my rise to power would not be such a simple matter. Still, the fall of one drug ring will hardly end my aspirations. Murphy, I want you to call together the other ringleaders under my command. We need to discuss this."

"Yes, sir." Murphy replied, leaving his employer's office. At the moment, that man controlled only a few small crime rings in the state of New York, but there was no one that Murphy feared more than the Red Skull.

* * *

"How could this happen?" Norman Osborn demanded, looking furiously at the surveillance tapes over and over, playing them at slower or faster speeds. It made no difference. Every time he played the tapes, the same thing happened. The time device he'd found the Red Skull in was in the sealed room, protected by an inch of titanium, eight inches of concrete and an electromagnetic security barrier, and yet, in a split second, there was a flash of light, which he found he could drag out into three or four frames of the film, and then the device was gone.

"I don't know, sir." the man who'd brought him the tape replied, "I've had the boys in security, optics, sonic research, and even theoretical physics going over that area and this tape since it happened, but they still haven't found anything. If I was a religious man, I'd almost think your machine..."

"...was snatched by God." Norman finished, as he continued to look over the video footage, still hoping to find something that he and everyone else had missed.

* * *

Loki grinned as he positioned the machine on one side of his quarters, and began casting spells over it, to give it a strong enough current to operate independently of an outlet, then started moving the controls with his own hands. If he was right, the machine he was about to activate could do the one thing that even he, with all his magic, was not capable of.

Turning the dials, Loki pulled the main lever, and watched in delight as the strong magnetic fields began to distort space itself, creating a weak point in the structure of time...

Walls came down, furniture was smashed, and Loki's quarters were utterly destroyed, along with what had remained of Osborn's machine as a huge, flailing monster knocked Loki through several dozen marble walls, and into the main hall of Odin's palace.

"What in Niflheim is going on?" Odin roared as the monster swung one of its arms, destroying the main dining hall, and making a shambles of the kitchens.

"Loki..." Odin muttered, sparing a moment to glance at his adopted son, "This is thy doing! Thou hast brought this monstrosity upon us!"

"Nay!" Loki lied, "T'was not I!"

"'Tis thee I should have banished, and not thy brother." Odin replied angrily, "But for now, this creature shall be the one to feel mine wrath."

Then, faster than Loki could keep track of, with even his divine eyes, Odin had leapt from his throne, grabbing the monstrous brute by its left arm, and twisting it into an unnatural angle. Then, as the creature roared in terrible pain, Odin placed two fingers downward on its arm, and the monster simply evaporated under his touch.

"F-fantastic..." Loki muttered as Odin returned to what was left of the main hall, several other gods and goddesses already at work repairing the palace, "Thy skill truly is as great as the legends say."

"Loki," Odin muttered bitterly, "Depart from this place for now, for after what thou hast done, I cannot bear to gaze upon thee until the morrow, when thou mayst find in me a more forgiving heart."

Loki dared not argue with Odin after what he'd just seen, but there was great jealousy inside of him when he thought about what his adopted father had just done.

"Such power and skill could belong instead to me," Loki muttered, "if only the machine had worked. I know not how, but I sense the hand of mine accursed brother in this."

* * *

"Wow..." Janet gasped, as soon as she was sure the monster was really gone, "Did we win? Is that it?"

"For the moment, it seems so." Thor said as he descended, and Henry Pym resumed his normal size next to Janet, having to slide his feet inward as he did so; a complication to size-changing that he once hadn't even considered.

"Well, hopefully, we'll never have to deal with anything like that again." Henry said.

"Still, it might be best if we were prepared, just in case." Captain America replied, "Is there somewhere I can reach you all?"

"Art thou suggesting a more permanent alliance?" Thor asked.

"I don't see why not," Captain America said, "but I won't try to pressure anyone here into it. If you're not ready to risk your life to protect the ideals of justice and goodwill, and the people we care about, that's your choice, but as long as anyone tries to crush those things I care about, I'm going to be there, fighting them."

"I shall be by thy side." Thor replied.

"Me too." Janet added, resuming normal size, "I think Daddy would have wanted it that way."

"If she's in, then so am I. I can't just let Jan run off and save the world alone." Henry said with a smile.

"I think if we're going to be a team from now on, we should develop a better means of communication during battle, so we can plan out strategies as we fight." Iron Man said, "Once I get back to my lab, I should be able to make us some transmitters..."

"Sounds great!" Janet said, delighted, "Why, I'll bet together we could right any wrong, and avenge anybody who's... had to suffer loss."

"Then so shall we be avengers in this modern age." Thor exclaimed enthusiastically, "Thou hast proven thy valor, and I feel... almost among equals at last..."

* * *

Two men watched the proceedings from the nearest hillside, though in truth, neither one was a human being. Both were scientists, after a fashion, and both had some understanding of other times and places. Each had some knowledge the other did not, however, which was why they had met to speak on the subject of the avengers, who were, that very day, first becoming a true team. One of the men was bald with pale eyes, and the other had short, white hair and a mustache. Both were dressed to resemble ordinary humans. There was no reason for either to take their true form while in the human world.

"So you see that what I told you is true." the bald man said, "This new generation is gathering into groups or teams for their protection. Is not the survival of all sentient life based on that?"

"This team will perish in a bloody massacre." the man with the mustache replied, "Have you not foreseen that?"

"I have, but it matters not." the bald man replied, "In the scheme of things, this will only make their world stronger than ever. Did you realize that?"

"Indeed." the mustached man replied, "But it remains to be seen whether mankind is strong enough to survive what is to come, and if they are, are they intelligent enough to be trusted?"

"What do you wish to trust them with?" the bald man asked, looking almost surprised for a moment.

"I believe humans to be a dangerous race." the mustached man said, "Perhaps, in the far, far distant future, even dangerous to us. If that is true, then the ancient one will do much to aid us if he destroys them all."

"But nothing to aid us, or them, if that is not true." the bald man replied.

Then, as one, the two men said, "More data is needed," and went their separate ways, vanishing in an instant.

* * *

End


	6. Issue 6: Great Power Part 1

Note: This tale takes place before Xavier Institute Neo Issue 1, chronologically, but I'm posting it afterwards to explain things that came before. Just wanted to avoid confusion.

* * *

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 6

"Great Power..."

Part 1 of 2

* * *

Samantha Deych hurried with the keys to her apartment. Aside from the fact that she was carrying a bag of groceries, and was in a hurry to put it down, she had other reasons for not wanting to dawdle in entering her home, small and shabby though it was, and just as she found her keys, she could hear one of them approaching on the stairs behind her. As he ran towards her, she quickly slipped inside and closed the door, although the man outside at least had the decency to not try to open it again.

"Sam?" the man's voice came from outside, "Sam, what is it? Please, honey... We... we gotta talk."

"Lose another job, Morrie?" Samantha asked through the door, trying to sound as intentionally-derisive as she could in the hopes that he'd just go away. Her friends had told her, her parents had warned her, and she hadn't seen anything to contradict the assertion that Morrie Bench was the wrong guy for her. Her father had told her right out that the guy would obviously never amount to anything. He had a nasty temper, he wasn't very bright, knew nothing about computers, and as if that wasn't enough, he didn't have much money either, or much of a prospect of earning any. Morrie had lost seven jobs over the course of the past two years, due to a combination of incompetence and his tendency to shout at managers who were unkind to him, but even despite all that, Samantha would have stayed with him if he'd just listened to her once in a while. Samantha had been dating Morrie for only a few months, but it felt like longer. The guy just never showed any interest in her hobbies. He just showed up and started griping about his rotten life. Samantha couldn't afford to stay with Morrie. She knew that. He was bad for her. The only question was whether she could bring herself to confront him with that. He suffered so much in his own life, that news like that might break him in half, and it's always hard to make a decision that will hurt someone you know, even if you're sure it's for the best.

"No. No, I didn't lose another job. I got another one." Morrie exclaimed through the door, "I'm gonna be gettin' money again soon. Isn't that great?"

"That's... That's great..." Samantha replied emotionlessly, but Morrie didn't seem to take notice.

"Just wait. Soon we'll be able to eat out sometimes, and go to movies... I could even buy you a television if I save up long enough. We could be happy. Are you gonna let me in now?"

Samantha had no intention of opening the door, however. Even supposing that Morrie managed to hold down his new job, which was very unlikely, in her experience, there was no way she could stay with him. Whether he really cared about her or not, she needed someone who'd listen to her.

"I... I'm sorry." Samantha said sadly, "It can't work like that, Morrie. It... it just can't. It isn't just about money... I... I need something more."

"More?" Morrie asked, starting to feel very worried, "More like what?"

"Morrie, this is hard enough as it is... Can't we...? I mean, can't we just... be friends?"

A lump formed in Morrie Bench's throat as he heard those words. It was the worst eventuality. Samantha was all he really cared about anymore. Even after all the failures, all the losses, all the more and more painful evidence that he would never be great, Morrie Bench was beginning to discover that things could always get worse. All his hard work and all the time he'd wasted putting up with his arrogant, bullying and unfair employers, all because he wanted to earn enough extra money to buy his girlfriend a few nice things when they went out. All of that had been so important to him, that he'd sacrificed everything for it; his will, his dreams, his dignity... but none of it was worth the price anymore. Samantha was all he'd wanted since the beginning. She was the only thing in his life that made him feel like other accomplishments and possessions didn't matter as much. Losing her was more than Morrie could bear. Shouting with rage, Morrie slammed both hands so hard against the door, that he could tell he was going to feel pain in those hands for at least the following day. Fury and despair fought for dominance over Morrie's thoughts as he slunk back down the hall and away from Samantha, who had herself begun silently to cry.

* * *

Norman Osborn slapped the report down on his desk with a clap that, while it wasn't aggressive, did sound distressingly like a guillotine coming down. Osborn was a man with a narrow chin, a slim build, and short, brown hair which was cut, probably intentionally, like the hair of an army drill sergeant. He was wearing a light brown suit as he looked up from behind his desk at Jason Davidson.

"I'm not satisfied with this." Osborn said to Davidson as he swiftly stood up, "The project is over."

"Sir..." Jason tried to explain, "Many of the tests have been very promising. It shouldn't be long before the chemical can be properly configured, to establish a physical and mental relationship between living cells and natural elements, and if we can do that..."

"Even if you can establish something like that, you'd have to take the whole process back to formula before you could do it again, if you ever could. A lot depends on the DNA of the samples you're given, if I understand the process correctly. If it's not just the right kind of DNA, nothing happens at all..."

"But the last rabbit we used the formula on was able to fire a blast of air from its mouth before it melted..." Jason tried to explain, but Osborn wouldn't be argued with, not even by a biologist as famous and talented as Davidson.

"I said the project was over, and I meant it." Osborn said, "I'm not willing to devote any more time or resources to this continuing trial and error. You're being transferred to the new animal steroid projects in sector twelve. I suggest you spend the coming weekend studying up on it."

"I don't mind saying, I don't like this one bit." Davidson muttered just loud enough that Osborn could hear him, "Having to study the formulae for a new project is a hard job, it's true, but what I'm really regretting is that I came so close on this project, and couldn't see it through. May I at least keep my notes on the subject to study in the future?"

Osborn turned to face Davidson with a short, amused grin, then said "I don't see why not, but you'll need to get rid of the actual samples of the chemical. After all, we can't have the public thinking that any of this is more than a simple theory until we're really ready to produce something."

It was hardly the first time that Osborn had instructed Jason to do something he didn't agree with, but he didn't feel any more comfortable with it than usual. Still, Osborn signed the checks, and he could be as fearsome as anyone when he was upset. Jason had been working for the man for years, and at least it gave him the chance to work on the cutting edge of his field. Norman Osborn was the sort of man that you just couldn't defy.

* * *

"Peter! Peter, are you up yet?"

The words shot through Peter Parker's head, adding to his already substantial migraine, but they did succeed in waking him up.

"No!" he shouted back, "I'm still asleep!"

"Well, you'd better get un-asleep if you don't want to miss the bus!" his uncle Ben shouted back, returning his nephew's intentional joke.

Peter had a hard time getting up that morning. His headache was just getting worse the more he tried to move, but regardless, he eventually managed to hoist himself out of bed. He'd heard somewhere that headaches aren't uncommon after one has been drinking heavily, but he'd never touched a drop in his life, so that couldn't have been responsible.

However, as Peter got to his feet, feeling the pain driving through his head like a knife, he started going over what had happened to him in the recent past, trying to think of other weird pains he'd been having, or anything else that might have made him sick, or contributed to an illness of any sort, and it was then that he remembered the spider.

The night before, as he'd been up late studying, Peter Parker had noticed a spider crawling along the nearest windowsill. He'd tried to brush it away with an old copy of the Daily Bugle, but the thing was too fast, and it looked like it saw him coming, because it seemed to have leapt a great distance through the air, to land on his hand, and then bit him hard. Peter had never felt a spider bite before, but he suspected they didn't normally feel like that. For a few seconds, there had been a stabbing pain in his hand, then a strange feeling of warmth, that spread up his arm before fading into a dull ache that lasted for the next hour and a half, until it too had faded, and Peter had been able to get to sleep, his latest project still unfinished on his desk. The body of the dead spider seemed to have vanished after that, although Peter hadn't exactly tried to find it.

It seemed a little unlikely that one random spider-bite could lead to a headache the following morning, but then, Peter had gotten sick from smaller things before that. Peter Parker wasn't exactly what one could call a perfectly healthy boy. Though he tried to keep up with his studies, and he wasn't in horrible shape, he tended to catch some new sickness every month or so, sometimes more than once a month, although it seemed like less to most of the other kids at school, because he didn't always make a big deal out of it when it happened. After all, it was just a cough, or a sneeze, or a runny nose. Why raise a fuss over something so trivial? It was better, Peter had decided, to focus on his studies. Maybe one day, he'd be able to earn enough money that way to support himself, or even a family, which were much larger-scale concerns.

"Who am I kidding, though?" Peter asked himself silently as he picked out a sweatshirt and a pair of pants that he hoped didn't look too dorky, "No girl would ever..."

Even that thought, however, quickly faded, because as undeniable as it was, Peter Parker wasn't exactly eager to depress himself. Instead, he finished getting dressed and stepped out the door to his room, slowing down for just a second to straighten his dark brown hair as he passed the mirror in the hallway right next to the stairs. Uncle Ben had been right. As bad as his headache was, he couldn't let it stop him. He had to finish getting ready for school, which meant getting a whole lot of things together in a short amount of time.

Peter had to hurry past his aunt May, who was preparing her own breakfast, and make his own at virtually the same time he made his lunch. May hardly touched her own breakfast as she watched Peter hard at work for about fifteen minutes, making a reasonable breakfast and lunch, then he started shoving books into his backpack as he held one piece of toast in his mouth. In the end, it was all ready, and Peter's lunch was the last thing to go into his bag as he took off for his bedroom to retrieve the homework he'd left there.

It wasn't long before the bus arrived, pulling into the street just a few houses down from Peter's, and by that point, he was just about ready to rush out the door and catch it, not that he felt he was missing much. The report cards and the classes were an obligation, but at the school he attended, Peter often felt that most of what he learned was either read from the textbooks or discovered in his own free time, which meant that actually attending classes was useful mostly for handing in and receiving homework, and for earning report cards to keep Aunt May happy. Good report cards pleased Uncle Ben too, but there were lots of other things that mattered more to him. Peter's real education was largely extracurricular.

* * *

Peter's trip to school on the bus was, fortunately, uneventful. He spent most of the time on the bus trying to keep from being noticed by anyone as he looked from behind at the girl who'd entered a little before him. No matter where he ended up on the bus, he always managed to steal a glance or two at her. Mary Jane Watson lived next door to Peter, and although Peter had recognized the beauty of other girls occasionally on a superficial level, with Mary Jane there was something more. Peter had seen her kind, caring, upbeat outlook displayed openly to the public eye, and in a place like New York, that really meant something. Most of the other kids his age that Peter knew were at least a little mean or callous, or had a little angst, but if Mary Jane even knew what those things were, she hid it very well. Mary Jane wasn't just another pretty redhead, and Peter could see that plainly. In fact, she was the only girl he'd ever pictured himself marrying, but of course, he could never tell her that, or even, as things stood, speak to her at all. It wasn't that she was extremely popular in school. She was well-liked, but she didn't hang with any particular crowd. Still, Peter couldn't come up with any good reason why she'd ever want to talk to a geek like him when she could be...

Peter drew back, and slumped down in his seat. Mary Jane had noticed that he'd been looking at her. She didn't seem upset by it, though. He couldn't even imagine her really upset, but the way she was looking at him was making him pretty nervous, and she seemed to realize that, and turned back away. Peter, in turn, didn't dare to look at her again for the rest of the bus ride.

* * *

In fact, Peter's latest social blunder made him feel more than a little shy for the entire rest of the day. He felt so down, for a while, that he didn't even see the rich-looking convertible in the school's parking lot, nor did he raise his hand as often in class as he was used to doing, instead studying silently from the books and worksheets he was given. It wasn't until lunch that anything happened worth opening his mouth for.

As Peter moved into the lunchroom and swiftly opened his bag lunch and a book, he could see that, as usual, no one was volunteering to sit next to him. No surprise there. However, as Peter looked around the half-full cafeteria, he saw someone who caught his attention.

It was, again, Mary Jane. Peter could see her bright red hair from where he was. She was halfway across the cafeteria, but there was still plenty of room at her table as well. Only two other people were seated at that table besides her, so if he could manage to keep up his courage, he might just be able to...

But then, Peter saw another figure who caught his attention, and the sight made his heart sink. He was a boy, not much older than Peter himself, and dressed in a light jacket and a red t-shirt with black pants. His hair was brown and short, and he was picking at the lunch he had in front of him with a plastic fork, but it didn't look like he was on the verge of eating anything. Peter couldn't blame him. The guy was seated at one of the corner tables, and he was the only one there. In fact, he was the only person in the whole cafeteria, aside from Peter himself, who seemed to have nobody to talk to.

"Oh, great." Peter thought silently, "Just great. So what am I supposed to do now?"

There was nothing, at that point, that Peter Parker wanted more than to cross the lunchroom and go to Mary Jane, but as much as he wanted it, he just couldn't do it. As Peter struggled within his heart for the strength to get up and do what he wanted to, however, he realized that his own urges... his own words weren't the only ones driving through his thoughts.

"Peter. I always want you to remember this, whenever folks pick on you. A lot of them wind up like that because people weren't fair with them, or didn't help them out when they really needed it. Now, when somebody does wrong, they have to be stopped. That's why we have the police. But in the meantime, when someone really needs your help, make sure you give it. You might just wind up saving someone a whole lot of pain."

Peter looked down at his food for a moment. Too often, he'd hidden behind his own weakness whenever someone needed help, fooling himself into thinking there was nothing he could do, but in that case, there definitely was. That kid at the corner table looked like he needed Peter's help pretty badly.

Slowly, Peter Parker picked up his lunch and walked over to the table where the other boy was seated. The boy gave Peter a very short glance as he got closer, but there was no hostility in that glance. In fact, he seemed more bored than anything.

"Hey." Peter said when he got to the table, "Do... do you mind if I sit here?"

The boy looked up from his lunch, and into Peter's eyes for the first time, and Peter could see a partial callousness in those eyes, as if the boy didn't really care, one way or the other, or at least, was trying to fool Peter into thinking he didn't care.

"No." the boy replied, "No, I don't really mind. Do you?"

It was a strange kind of question, and it caused Peter's eyebrows to rise a little higher than normal when he heard it. Clearly, that boy, whoever he was, was a little unusual.

"Why would I mind?" Peter asked, letting a jovial smile cross his face for the first time all day, "It was my idea."

"Good point." the boy said, then looking back at his food again, "Okay. Knock yourself out."

So, Peter seated himself at the table across from the boy with the strange manner of speech, but Peter only had enough time for a few bites of his apple before the urge to find out more about the odd boy became too great to resist, and he opened his mouth, a curious look all over his face.

"By the way, I don't think I've seen you around before." Peter said, but before he could ask for the boy's name, the boy replied, still not looking at him.

"Unless you've been doing a lot of international traveling, I'm not surprised." the boy said, "This is my first day in public school."

"You mean it's your first school day since you moved to New York." Peter deduced, but his deduction proved to be incorrect.

"Naw, I've been living here for three months," the boy said, "It's just that my dad kept me in private schools for a while."

For someone like Peter, who loved learning, the idea of private school was something like a wonderful dream; total freedom to learn and advance in new areas of study, or be tutored by professors who understood more than just the words printed on the page of a textbook. In a private school, one sometimes even got to meet respectable people, who'd come and give talks on their subjects of interest, or demonstrate their personal specialties, but it was just as clear to Peter that the boy sitting in front of him had a somewhat less enthusiastic view of that system.

"You got into a private school?" Peter asked, still amazed.

"I've been in and out of over half a dozen private schools in the last year alone." the boy replied.

"What happened?" Peter asked, looking a little disappointed.

"They... they weren't for me." the boy just, but didn't say anymore about it afterwards.

Peter also fell silent, almost completely convinced that their conversation was over, until the boy spoke up again.

"Not that I have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, but I guess we should probably get around to introductions at some point."

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry." Peter said, realizing that he had yet to tell the boy his name, or vice versa, "I'm... I mean, my name's Peter. Peter Parker."

"And before you beat a hasty retreat in the opposite direction," the boy said, "my name is Harry Osborn."

"Osborn?" Peter asked, leaving his apple on the table as he recognized the name, "Do you mean..."

"I'm his son." Harry replied, even before Peter could ask the question, "Norman Osborn is my dad."

Peter wasn't about to leave the table just because of that, but it did explain a few things. For one thing, it explained why Harry had told Peter he'd been doing a lot of traveling, and how he'd been able to get into private schools. When he thought about it, it also explained why Harry had been alone in the cafeteria. Norman Osborn was a rich industrialist. Next to Tony Stark and only a couple of others, nobody had more influence in the financial and business worlds than he did. When that kind of power was associated with a person's very name, people tended to get wary around them; especially kids who'd been taught to be cautious in the sort of city where being cautious pays off daily.

Peter had to think for several seconds about what to say next. Could he fake some kind of compliment over his father's business efforts? Harry didn't seem to care about that. A joke about money? Might be taken the wrong way. Eventually, Peter settled on a simple, lighthearted remark.

"My condolences."

Peter had actually intended the words to sound a little humorous, but the moment he said them, Harry looked up from his food again, and back into Peter's face with a curious and puzzled expression on his own features. At last, when Peter started trying to grin again, worried that he'd just said something wrong, Harry realized he was making Peter nervous, and chuckled slightly.

"Thanks." Harry said, smiling at last, which he hadn't really done since Peter had sat down, "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that. For some reason, most people think that having a rich, famous dad is something to be happy about, probably because they've never had to try it for themselves. You're pretty bright."

"Thank you, I guess." Peter replied, subconsciously mimicking Harry's mannerisms in small ways, since he didn't have much experience with socializing either.

Only a few more words were spoken between the two boys before lunch was over and they had to return to their respective classes and schedules, but each was feeling that the experience had helped them, and each had begun to think of the other by their first names.

* * *

Morrie's thoughts raced through a list of rotten names, each worse than the last, and yet none of them, if spoken aloud, would have been sufficient to describe the outrage he was feeling at his boss that morning. Ever since the messy breakup with Samantha, Morrie had been having a harder time controlling his already-volatile temper, and that morning, it had been a close shave with his supervisor.

Weather-wise, it wasn't a bad day. The sun was shining and clouds were scarce, but there was a dark cloud named Samantha that stayed over Morrie all day, unleashing a bitterness and rage upon his head in a constant stream, as he shoved the dolly with the Oscorp crates on it up the ramp to the boat they were apparently destined for. Suddenly, however, Morrie heard the voice of a man behind him; a man he had good reason to recognize and loathe the voice of.

"Morrie Bench, what happened last night?"

Morrie had to fight back the urge to ask what business it was of his, as he slowly turned to face his supervisor again.

Christian Deveau was looking very irritated as he held up three sheets of paper for Morrie to take.

"What the hell is this?" Morrie asked, furious already.

"A good choice of words." Christian said, "Yes, it's hell filling out insurance forms, but you still have to do it."

"Insurance?" Morrie asked, confused and still very angry.

"That's right, Morrie." Christian said with mock-sympathy all over his face, "Remember? I told you that you had to fill out the proper insurance forms before you left yesterday, but these were still sitting, unsigned, on my desk at the end of the day, so somebody must have misheard me or something."

"For now, maybe you should keep these on you," Christian said, shoving the papers into Morrie's hands as he turned to leave, "but before you leave tonight, I want to see those papers filled out and on my desk."

Morrie was furious, not just with the man's attitude, but with everything about his life. Those papers... they were like a physical example of everything that was wrong about the world. Self-righteous little dorks like Christian pushed people around and told them what to do, and nobody could fight 'em. Nobody could play the game of life by any rules but the ones they set. As Morrie thought about those things, he got so furious that he let go of the dolly, and one of the crates lurched forward, falling off the top of the stack, towards the edge of the boat.

Though Morrie's rage didn't vanish at that moment, his sense of self-preservation had reasserted itself, and he shoved the papers into his pocket, tearing them in several places, and lunged forward to steady the crate, but it was too heavy. The crate collided with Morrie Bench head-on, and pretty soon, he was falling through the air, towards the ocean below. Morrie could feel that something inside his chest had been broken, as the crate had collided with him, and he caught a short glimpse of the same crate hitting the steel wall of the ship it was being loaded on with horrible force, cracking open and releasing its shimmering contents like water. Then, Morrie Bench felt the waves of the New York City harbor surround him, and in moments, he'd begun to lose every sense of himself.

"This... totally bites..." he thought to himself, "of all the lame, crumby, stupid ways to die..."

* * *

Peter Parker hadn't really been feeling bad since lunch, and he was definitely glad he'd taken a moment to talk to Harry. It gave his life a totally new dimension to suddenly have someone to talk to... maybe even a real friend; somebody he could trust. But no. It was too early to jump the gun. With all his money, there was still the chance that Harry might wind up becoming popular and forget about him. It was a grim thought for Peter Parker, but it was definitely possible.

However, as Peter thought about those many grim possibilities, another grim possibility made itself evident.

"Hey Parker."

Peter didn't need to turn and look. He knew that the voice belonged to Flash Thompson. In moments, Peter had frozen where he was. He was well aware that he couldn't match Flash's strength or his speed. Flash Thompson was one of the top players on the high school football team, and there was no point in trying to run from someone like that, no matter how important it might be to get away from him in a hurry.

Soon, Flash had stepped around Peter in the hallway, to face him from the front, and Peter could hear the sounds of at least two other boys behind him, as Flash started talking again.

"Not bad on the track today, Parker. Nice... uh... nice walking skills, I guess."

Peter bit his lip. It had been a jog. Flash knew that full well. He was just trying to goad Peter into giving him an excuse to get rough.

"I heard you scored a thirty. Man, it's been months since I heard of anybody scoring that low."

"Oh, it can't have been that long, Flash." Peter said, unable to hold it in any longer, "We had IQ testing last week, didn't we?"

Flash looked a little confused. Maybe he wasn't sure what to do, say or even feel. Whenever Peter's razor-sharp wit found a weakness in Flash's attempts at insults, Flash found it a little irksome, but there were definitely things Flash could do that Peter couldn't.

Just like that, Flash Thompson looked over Peter's shoulder, and Peter Parker felt himself being grabbed from behind by both arms. He struggled in vane against the two boys behind him as they yanked him out the door and down the steps outside, dropping him on the grass just outside the school. All the thoughts of his science project, of Mary Jane, of Harry, and of everything he'd learned in class that day had vanished in the face of his immediate danger as Flash's foot came down on the back of his head, forcing his face into the dirt.

"Love that dirty mouth of yours Parker." Flash remarked with an amused chuckle. It seemed obvious that he was having his fun. Peter knew the routine. Within a few minutes or so, Flash would get tired and let him go, but as it turned out, on that one afternoon, Peter Parker was going to be granted an early release.

"I'm guessing you don't have a license for this kind of thing."

Flash seemed to hesitate for a moment as he looked down at Harry Osborn, who stood almost a head shorter than him, and yet, he still seemed quite relaxed. For some reason, the calm self-assuredness that Harry was displaying at that moment would have come across to Peter as a little intimidating as he stood there, facing Peter Parker's tormentor.

"Stay out of this, rich boy." Flash muttered, "It's none of your business."

"I guess there is an element of legal business to unarmed assault." Harry replied, "Still, I think we can settle this out of court. Particularly since your dad happens to work for Oscorp. I'm sure you wouldn't want anything to happen to your father's job just because of a little misunderstanding like this."

Thompson's face flushed, half with rage and half with fear as he slowly removed his foot from Peter's head, but Peter decided it would be better to stay on the ground until he was sure Flash wasn't going to pulverize Osborn.

"Let's get something straight, rich boy." Flash said angrily, "I'm not the kind of guy you can just push around, no matter who you are or what kind of cash you have. If you cross me, you're taking a fall, no matter what happens after that."

"That's the best I can hope for." Harry replied, still remaining perfectly calm, "I won't start anything if you don't. I'm sure neither of us really wants to destroy the other."

Flash seemed to think that he'd won the argument of intimidation; the important one, and had given a short jerk of his head, to signal that the others should follow him. Then, the three larger boys were gone, and Harry was helping Peter to get to his feet.

"Wow." Peter remarked as he watched them go, "That was... really something. I didn't know you had that kind of power in Oscorp."

Harry, however, shook his head.

"I don't have any real power in my dad's company." Harry replied, not looking the least bit sad about it, "I saw Thompson's name on an old human resources document one time, while I was waiting for my dad to get out of a meeting, and I figured I could play a bluff with it. Looks like it worked. Hope I never have to do that again, though."

"Yeah." Peter replied, smiling as he and Harry walked out to the parking lot, where, a short time later, buses would be arriving to take Peter back to his own neighborhood, "Wish I could've done that."

"No you don't." Harry replied, "Believe me, you wouldn't like the trade-off."

Peter had to admit that he felt sorry for Harry as he saw the boy walk over to his car and take off in it. He himself had been through a lot over the course of his life; having lost his parents and being raised by his aunt and uncle, who never had much money to their names, but Harry Osborn seemed like the kind of guy who had nobody at all to support him, and didn't know how to react when he really met someone he could trust. Peter didn't know what kind of "trade-off" Harry had been talking about, but he was already pretty sure he didn't envy the wealthy young man.

* * *

Peter didn't really know how to feel as he got home from school. Physically, he was dirty, bruised, and at least one of his knees was skinned, to say nothing of the fact that he'd blown his chances with Mary Jane yet again. Despite all that, however, he really didn't feel all that bad, and he certainly had no intention of suffering the further fuss and aggravation that would most certainly arise if Aunt May saw his bruised and filthy face. It was a much better idea, he reasoned, to keep out of everyone's way until he could get upstairs and wash up.

Slowly, he slunk inside the front door and around the refrigerator, making sure to keep his ears open for Aunt May's distinctive footsteps, while making as little noise as possible himself. At last, he got all the way across the kitchen to the stairs, and then hurried up them, still making almost no noise as he headed for the bathroom. The problem was, the bathroom door was closed. Someone was inside.

Peter had to pause for a moment to consider his options, before deciding that it would be best to sneak into his room and wait for the bathroom to be vacated, then quickly rush in and clean up, but he was too late. The door to the bathroom swung open in front of him, and out came Ben Parker, wearing a thick blue sweatshirt. His gray hair and wrinkled face spoke of great age, but in his reaction to Peter, he seemed to have great wisdom as well.

Ben Parker remained totally silent, instead pointing to Peter, and then jerking his thumb back into the bathroom. After that, he pointed to himself, then to Peter's room. He understood completely.

A minute later, he'd finished washing up, putting the towel back on the rack after making sure he'd disposed of most of the remaining dirt. Then, he headed slowly to his room, dragging his bag behind him. After spending so long living with Ben Parker, he had some idea of what was coming. Uncle Ben loved to make speeches whenever something bad happened. That was why Peter was so taken aback when, after closing the door behind him, Uncle Ben merely asked "Flash again?"

"Uh... well, it's... Yeah." Peter eventually replied.

"I figured." Uncle Ben said, "I can't ask you not to get mad at kids like that, but you might want to try to forgive him. Not to his face, though. I just want you to make peace with what happened."

"It wasn't as bad as normal this time." Peter eventually said, "Another boy stopped him."

"A fight?" Uncle Ben asked.

"No..." Peter said, "Not really. He was a boy I met at lunch today; Harry Osborn."

Ben's eyes opened just a little wider when he heard that name. Osborn was well-known in New York.

"He's Norman Osborn's son." Peter continued, "I thought he looked lonely, so it seemed like a good idea to talk to him at lunch. I'm not sure how it happened, really, but I guess he decided we're friends."

Uncle Ben looked far graver as he listened to Peter's words, and when he spoke, it seemed like he'd made up his mind about something.

"Do you want to be Harry's friend, Peter?"

Peter was a little surprised to be getting a question rather than a speech, and he didn't exactly have a prepared response, so instead, he just shrugged.

"I guess he's not such a bad guy. I mean, I don't think he is. He's a little weird, but I guess some people think I'm weird too, you know?"

Uncle Ben gave a short nod as he thought about what Peter had said, then replied, "So in other words, you don't know him well enough yet to be sure that you want to be his friend. I like that answer. It's cautious."

Peter smiled, but Uncle Ben wasn't finished.

"Peter," Ben said, his stern expression returning, "Every so often in a person's life, if he's lucky, he gets the chance to do something really important; something powerful that helps hundreds, thousands, or even millions of people. Some people get the chance to make choices like that for years at a time, and they sometimes forget how to make those big choices responsibly. Those kinds of people are the rich and powerful in the world. Unfortunately, just having money means they have great power, but they're only going to hurt the rest of us with that power unless they know how to use it responsibly. Peter... In your opinion, is Harry responsible?"

"Well..." Peter said, a little relieved over having finally arrived at Uncle Ben's inevitable speech, "I don't know. He didn't seem like he cared about much when I met him at lunch, and he doesn't like his dad at all. Plus, he threatened to have Flash's dad fired at one point. It was just a bluff, but..."

Ben had looked away by that point, and was thinking carefully about what he was hearing. After a couple of seconds more, he spoke up again.

"Peter, like I said, I think people sometimes get a chance to make a big change in their lives, and I think this might be yours. Who knows? Maybe it's mine too. I think your new friend had a pretty lousy childhood. Maybe Mister Osborn didn't spend enough time with his boy, or maybe he did something to make his son distrust him, and they never really got over it. I can't say just what happened, but if Harry's decided that his dad is his enemy, to me that says that he really needs a friend; somebody he can trust. Norman Osborn is a very powerful man," Ben Parker continued, still frowning, "so it stands to reason that Harry will probably wind up being very powerful as well, and when that time comes, he's going to need responsibility, and he's going to need friends. It might be, Peter, that just by agreeing to be his friend, you'll be helping someone powerful to learn responsibility. I won't try to tell you what to do, but I hope you'll at least consider that a little."

"C'mon, Uncle Ben." Peter said with a smile, "I mean, I just said I met the guy. It's not like we're best buddies or anything."

"I know. I know..." Uncle Ben replied, holding up both hands in surrender, "Sorry. I don't mean to go overboard."

At last, Ben got to his feet and headed for the door, but took a short glance back, as Peter removed his books from his bag.

"Listen, I'm not planning on telling May about your... scuffle." Ben said, "You might want to stay out of her way for a little if you don't want the typical treatment."

"Good advice." Peter said, smiling again, "Thanks."

"If you get hungry later, help yourself. I'm not saving anything in the fridge."

Peter nodded and tried to smile, to reassure Uncle Ben that he was alright, but all he could bring himself to make was a slight grin. Uncle Ben seemed to realize what lay behind that empty grin, because his own attempt at a smile began to fade as he closed the door to Peter's room, to head back downstairs.

As Peter listened to Uncle Ben leave, he had to admit to himself, silently, that his uncle had certainly tried his best to understand what was going through his head, and he didn't really mind. Uncle Ben meant well, and he was definitely a very smart man. He was the kind of man who could see a person's flaws from a hundred different directions, and still treat them respectfully until the very moment when a clever point would do the most good. Peter had learned everything he knew about discussion from Uncle Ben, and although it was one of many things that made him different from the other guys at school, he didn't really regret it. Some differences were good, or even important, and Peter was sure he'd learned those from his aunt and uncle. For instance, study habits had been learned from Aunt May. She was always so diligent when it came to getting work done around the house, and there were times when she had to...

Peter winced as he sat down at his desk again, in front of his homework. It wasn't that there was something wrong with his homework. Far from it. If anything, it looked somewhat easy. The problem was that he was really starting to notice the bruises on his head when he sat down. Quickly, Peter tried rubbing his hands along his head to see if there were any cuts anywhere, but he found six distinct spots on his head that hurt when he touched them, and the pain wasn't coming from any of those. In fact, it was the same pain he'd felt that morning when he'd been worried that he was sick. Naturally, Peter had a much better reason to worry about that recently, what with all the dirt that had gotten all over his teeth that afternoon, but that obviously hadn't been the cause of his current pains. They'd been going on for much too long. As Peter struggled to pay attention to the homework right in front of him, it seemed to only be increasing his headache, but he didn't dare to go in search of an aspirin. At last, when he'd penciled in what he was sure was a wrong answer, Peter Parker gave up on trying to do his homework. It was still before seven in the evening, but he couldn't keep it up. He definitely wasn't at his best.

Worried and disoriented by the illness that had recently seized control of his life, Peter Parker got back up from his desk and slid into bed. The headache had started fading again as soon as he'd closed his eyes, and it was such a relief to him, that for a while, the unfinished homework faded from his thoughts. As his worries and concerns evaporated, one by one into thin air, Peter drifted off into one of the most peaceful slumbers he'd experienced in years, unaware of the amazing things that were waiting for him, just around the corner.

* * *

Harry Osborn had been expecting not to find his father around when he arrived home that night, but as it turned out, he wasn't going to be so lucky. Norman was right in the front hall, talking on his cell phone with someone; presumably someone important or powerful. As soon as Harry took one step inside that large entryway with the marble floors, however, Osborn said "Case Z" into the phone and hung up. It wasn't the first time Norman had used the term "Case Z" in front of Harry. He tended to use it a lot, whenever Harry showed up, or was on the verge of overhearing something sensitive.

"So, have you been enjoying public school so far?" Norman asked, clearly expecting to see some discontentment on Harry's face. In that, at least, he wasn't disappointed, as Harry thought out his words, and spoke them carefully, the way he'd been taught to since he was just a little boy.

"In some ways. I made a friend, threatened a bully, and passed on a cafeteria lunch. I almost feel like a normal kid."

"Charming." Norman replied with an unconvinced-looking smirk.

"What?" Harry asked, smirking back, "Don't tell me you're still sore that I didn't wind up like you, dad. We've been over that. That ship's sailed."

"If you'd spent even half a second in the real world, you'd know that survival isn't guaranteed. It's something you earn with cleverness, and by being prepared." Norman said, a hint of irritation forming in his voice, "I earned not only my survival, but yours as well. I'd have preferred if you'd learned to appreciate that, instead of getting on the bad side of everyone you meet."

"Why the speech, dad?" Harry asked, truly smiling at last, "I mean, we both know you never would have sent me to public school, except as your way of admitting that I was a lost cause, right? What are you trying to do?"

Norman gave Harry a very blank look for a moment, which, to Harry, said that he was trying to think up a reply. Harry half considered trying to leave the room before his father could voice that reply, but he didn't do that, and in the end, Norman Osborn spoke again.

"Although psychologists believe in the existence of free will, very few men ever have the freedom to choose what they really want to do with their lives. Harry, you could have been one of those men. It's such a waste."

"I already know what I want to do with my life." Harry replied, his smile fading, "I want to have more friends and fewer employees than you do. I'm going to bed."

Then, with that last parting shot, Harry Osborn headed upstairs to the bedrooms, and his father felt as if he'd lost something very important just then.

* * *

Peter Parker hesitated a little before opening his eyes, as he woke up the following morning. His headache seemed to be gone, and he was feeling a great deal more refreshed than he could ever remember having felt at any point in his life. Certainly, there was nothing to keep him from doing his homework once he got dressed.

Peter quickly replaced the clothes he'd worn to bed with new ones, putting the old clothes into the clothes basket he kept beside his bed, and then sparing only a glance at the clock, to reveal to him that it was already five thirty-six in the morning, he got to work on his homework. As promised, the homework proved relatively easy, and he breezed through the math questions and the reading, then moved onto the science terminology, most of which he knew already. With that done, Peter was sure he wouldn't have enough time to get any work done on his science project, until he looked up at the clock sitting next to his desk, and was shocked and worried by what the numbers said.

"Five forty?" Peter muttered to himself. It couldn't be right. He'd definitely been sitting there for fifteen minutes, or at least, he thought he had. It usually took him between twenty minutes, and half an hour to finish his homework, even when it was easy, so the only explanation was that the clock was broken somehow, which meant that it was probably a lot later than the clock said it was.

Realizing the danger that he was suddenly in; of being late for school, Peter piled books into his bag, and flung open the door to his room, rushing to the stairs...

However, as Peter passed the mirror across from the stairwell, he was in for another surprise. The image of his face that he saw in the mirror was familiar, or course; too familiar. It was the image he'd seen in that very same mirror the previous morning, before Flash Thompson had given him all those bruises.

Stunned, Peter ran his hands through his hair, and over his scalp to try to find the bruises he'd noticed on the previous night, but every single one of them seemed to be gone. He felt along his arms and legs, and his chest and back... the pain was gone. He felt just amazing!

Pausing for only a moment more, to consider the things that might have caused that strange, rapid healing, Peter rushed downstairs, into the kitchen, but found, to his surprise, that Aunt May and Uncle Ben weren't awake yet. Could the clock in his room have been right after all, and if so, what did it mean? Then, Peter saw the clock on the kitchen wall, and had to come to grips with the facts. Something truly strange was going on. The kitchen clock was one of those clocks that still used hands, and although the hands were still moving, Peter couldn't track the motions of the minute hand anymore, as he'd once been able to, and the second hand seemed to be moving extremely slowly. It was as if each new second on the clock took something like ten seconds. Amazed, Peter opened the front door to look out at the neighborhood, and was stunned by the sight that met his eyes. The branches and leaves of trees swayed slowly in the wind, birds flapped gradually through the air, and although the sun was definitely rising, it was most certainly not time for school yet. Somehow, everything in the world seemed to be moving slower.

"Everything but me." Peter realized silently, "Or am I just faster? At this rate, I'll have enough time to finish my project, and..."

However, suddenly, new ideas and images started forming in Peter's mind. Why finish that old project, when he had enough time to start a new one? The project he'd been working on was alright, but it was hardly ambitious. He could, he realized, do better.

Quickly, Peter rushed back into his house, and up to his room, hoping that he hadn't woken up his aunt or uncle yet, and started rifling through his books on animal biology, until he came to several images that he recognized. The central image that Peter noticed in that book was that of a large Achaearanea tepidariorum, or a common house spider. Quickly, Peter looked through the various lists of the chemical enzymes that were known to exist in the body of a spider, and suddenly began to understand what made them work. That was more, he realized, than just a science project. It could be a major advancement in technology, but if he wanted to make it work, he'd need money, and his aunt and uncle didn't have enough as it was. He thought of asking Harry for it, but they had, after all, just met, and he didn't want to use Harry, or make it seem like he only cared about Harry's money.

"I'll just have to find some way to earn it myself." Peter realized silently, "In the meantime, I guess I can finish up that other project I was working on."

Indeed he did. Moving and thinking as he normally did, only much faster, Peter Parker finished the chart of special chemicals and venoms found in the animal world, by which point it was almost five past six. He frowned then, however. He still had plenty of time on his hands. The real question was, what was he supposed to do with it all? More study time, certainly, was an option; at least until the school bus arrived, plus he'd have to make his lunch eventually. Then, of course, there was the fact that if they hadn't been similarly effected, Aunt May and Uncle Ben would undoubtedly notice that Peter was moving much faster than them. They weren't awake yet, however, so Peter decided to do what he always did whenever something came up; make plans for the future and hope they worked out.

The first thing, Peter eventually decided, was to finish making his lunch and breakfast, then take them up to his room, and eat his breakfast, while he tried to slow himself down. He quickly dug an old stopwatch out of the closet, and put it on his desk, checked to make sure it still worked, then started it up. As the seconds ticked slowly by, Peter tried to get into the habit of moving slowly again, by gradually removing his socks, and putting them back on several times over. At last, he seemed to get the idea, and finished up his breakfast, as the clock on his desk changed to six thirty. Uncle Ben and Aunt May would just be getting up right about then, and, Peter began to realize, he'd have to practice interacting with them, if he wanted to get used to intentionally moving as slowly as everyone else.

* * *

Peter seemed nervous as he came downstairs with his book bag over one shoulder that morning, looking a little surprised as he sat down at the kitchen table, and glanced at his own watch, but Aunt May didn't seem to notice anything particularly odd about her nephew. Uncle Ben, however, noticed right away that all of Peter's scrapes and bruises were gone..

In one moment, when Aunt May had gotten up for a piece of toast, Uncle Ben slid over next to Peter, and whispered to him "Nice job, by the way. Not sure how you covered it up, but I can barely even tell you were in a fight. It's really good makeup."

"M-makeup..." Peter replied, having trouble slowing his words down properly at first, "Right. Thanks."

Ben gave him what was probably meant to be an understanding nod, although Peter certainly didn't understand what was going on, and didn't think Uncle Ben could.

As he headed out to the bus that morning, Peter had to struggle to keep his speed down; although it seemed to get a little easier the more he practiced at it. The harder part was having enough patience to sit through what came across as ten-second seconds. The ride to school would have seemed to be taking hours, if it hadn't meant having a longer time to glance at Mary Jane from where he was, and having the speed to look away quickly when the need arose as well. Unlike the day before, Mary Jane never seemed to notice when he was looking at her, which felt both safer, and a little unfortunate in some ways. For some reason, it just wasn't enough to look at Mary Jane. It was nice to see her smile when Peter was having a bad day, and it was something he could always sort of count on, but there was more to that smile than just the edges of her lips pointing upwards. Peter longed to understand why Mary Jane always smiled so much, and so convincingly, and wished he could put on a pleasant face with as much skill as her. He wanted to understand what was going through her head, but he could never do that unless he could work up the courage to actually talk to her. It was a hard predicament for poor Peter Parker, just as it is for many of the shier boys his age.

* * *

Peter's day was very difficult. He had a harder time understanding and being understood by others and in everything, he had to struggle to slow himself down. It was a chore, but he tackled it with the same determination that had contributed to his study habits, and in the end, it paid off. By lunchtime, Peter was starting to get used to the strange acceleration, and had another pleasant, if somewhat unusual talk with Harry about the high school football team, and the role of businesses in both assisting and inhibiting scientists. For someone who'd sworn off the business world, Harry had an impressive depth of knowledge about it, and apparently, his father worked frequently with leading scientists in various fields, in the hopes of producing marketable results. Peter, on the other hand, had heard of most of those scientists through the science journals he liked to read in his spare time. In particular, he was surprised to hear that both Otto Octavious and Jason Davidson had been working at Oscorp for over three years. It was humbling to think that even if he himself became an extremely talented biologist or biochemist, he'd still probably wind up answering to someone like Norman Osborn or Tony Stark. Harry was Norman's son, after all, and from everything that Peter had heard, the two didn't trust one another. Based on that, Peter wasn't particularly inclined to trust Norman either, and the idea of working for someone you can't trust sounded particularly bad to him.

However, near the end of the day, Peter heard Flash's voice again, just as he was headed outside, towards the bus.

"Hey, puny Parker."

That time, however, Peter didn't freeze. Instead, he turned around to face Flash, and both of the other boys who were with him.

"Why do you need an excuse, Flash?" Peter asked, finally feeling as if he didn't need to be afraid of Flash Thompson, as he watched the bully move in what looked like slow motion, "You come after me because it makes you feel better. Why wait for me to respond to you?"

The words, predictably, got under Flash's skin, but he advanced toward Peter, looking menacing, and asked, "What did you say?"

"I'm not going to hit you with a quip today Flash." Peter said, "So if you plan on hitting me instead, you'd better get it over with."

Flash looked furious when Peter said that, but he responded swiftly, by swinging his fist towards Peter's stomach. The moment he did, there was a type of strange sensation in his head. It wasn't quite a buzzing, not quite a jingling or a bell. It was as if pressure was building up in one area of his head, and that pressure was becoming, not pain, but a type of music that pointed, audibly, in the direction of Flash. Peter was so stunned by the sensation, that he didn't even have enough time to get out of the way, when Flash slammed his fist into his abdomen.

Peter's body flinched a little, and he felt the impact of the blow, but strangely, it didn't really hurt at all. Flash had expected Peter to collapse, or at least raise a fuss over it, but "puny Parker" didn't seem effected at all, and Flash had only been holding back a little bit.

Flash Thompson didn't get it, but he aimed another punch at Peter's face, and again, the weird pressure occurred in his head, almost as if warning him of the impending impact. That time, though, Peter reacted, bending backwards away from the blow, before it could hit him. Flash's punch hit thin air, and nothing else as he tried to recover from his most recent failure, and that was when Peter decided to move a little faster. Whatever had happened, it seemed that Flash's punches were no longer a genuine danger to him, and he was fast enough to dodge all of the larger boy's attacks easily, which meant that he was probably fast enough to deliver a few of his own.

Even as he made that decision, Peter crouched to the ground underneath Flash Thompson's latest sluggish attempt at a punch, and his leg shot out, sweeping around behind Flash's own legs, and knocking the taller boy to the ground. For a moment, Flash was too dazed to be sure what had happened.

"Actually, Flash..." Peter said as the boy started scrambling to his feet, "Maybe you'd be better off not trying to hit me."

Then, Peter turned to go, and Flash was too embarrassed over what had just happened to try another attack.

* * *

When Peter got home that night, he locked the door to his room, and spent the next five minutes finishing his homework, then headed outside. He wasn't sure how or why it had happened, but he'd gotten several strange, new abilities, and he had no idea how far they went. Before leaving the house, he'd retrieved a ski mask and gloves from the closet in the hallway, near the front door, and taken them with him. There was something he wanted to try. Hiding in the shadow of his house, Peter donned the mask and gloves, then took off at as fast a sprint as he could, zipping down the street with roughly the speed of an average car, and yet, he could feel much greater power in his legs, longing to escape. Quickly, Peter crouched in the empty road, and leapt upward with all his might, then found himself looking down at the houses and trees, and across the horizon to the skyline of New York City. It was like flying. Then, he came back down, and landed in a crouch, completely unharmed, like a cat or a... a spider.

That was when Peter remembered the spider from the other night, and thought about the abilities, which, at their size, they're known to have. Of course, if a human were the size of a spider, they'd be stronger and tougher, but because of their small size, a spider's muscles seem very strong. The spider bite that Peter had gotten the other night… Could the spider that had bitten him have been extraordinary in some way...? Perhaps it was some kind of mutated spider, or some experiment from a lab, or maybe... maybe it hadn't been a spider at all. Peter wasn't sure what to think, as he got off the road, and looked up at the evening sky, which was darkening, and would soon reveal the stars. However it had happened, Peter had acquired several abilities in a larger body, which smaller spiders seem to have. Quick reaction time and agility, great speed and endurance, a sixth sense for warning him to danger and...

Peter tried to think about webbing for a moment, but he was pretty sure he couldn't do that, nor would it have been terribly useful, considering where a spider's web glands were located. The ease with which he'd knocked Flash over earlier in the day probably meant that, like a spider, he had great strength as well, but he'd feel better once he knew its full extent.

Quickly, Peter rushed to the edge of town, where an old scrap yard was, and leapt over the fence around it in one jump, then grabbed a large piece of metal from nearby, and lifted it easily in one hand. Next, he grabbed a larger one, and still it came up easily. What power, he thought!

Then Peter Parker saw an old, ruined car nearby, and grabbed it by the edge.

It only took a little effort, before the car too rose up in Peter's hands, and in a single, swift motion, Peter had hurled the car through the air, to the other side of the yard. It was fantastic! It was amazing! It was all the strength he needed and more! The moment the car came down with a crash, among the rest of the scrap metal, Peter leapt back over the fence he'd come in by, and was off again before the owner of the yard could show up.

Peter arrived home no more than half an hour after he'd left, chuckling over his good fortune, when he saw that he'd left his window open, and another idea came to him. He wasn't sure whether he could actually pull it off, but he was eager to try. Slowly, just in case he failed, Peter pressed one hand against the wall of the house, then another, then pulled back a little to find, to his delight, that his hands were sticking to the wall at his mental command.

Quickly, Peter brought his knees up too, then the fronts of his feet, and even covered by gloves and shoes, his hands and legs still managed to stick to the walls. For a while, he tried it with various parts of his body, but no matter what part he used, he never seemed to come unstuck until the very moment he decided that he wanted to. Thrilled by his newfound discovery, Peter Parker climbed up the wall of his house to reach his window, and with his newly-acquired agility, was able to squeeze through it, and back into his room.

"This is so cool!" Peter thought silently, as he laughed over his incredible good fortune, "Why, I must be the most powerful person in the... in the..."

Quickly, Peter grabbed an evident newspaper from his bed, and skimmed its various ads, because he'd noticed something there.

"Crusher Hogan seeks a powerful opponent." the ad read, "If you think you can match the strength of the great Crusher Hogan, come down to the Two Dice Arena between six and nine PM and prove yourself. Cash reward of five thousand dollars to be awarded for a competent fighter and a good fight."

Peter just smiled as he memorized the address, and moments later, had leapt back out of his window on the second story, and into the street.

* * *

The docks built over the shoreline of Manhattan Island overlooked the mild waves of the ocean below. Wage slaves of various races and sizes worked hard to get everything loaded up on the supply ships, far into the night, when Donald Civetta; a man who'd worked at the docks for more than ten years stopped what he was doing. It was shocking... it was impossible... but it was happening.

"Don!" the manager exclaimed, rushing up to him, "What's up? Why'd you stop?"

Donald turned back around to look at his manager, and said in absolute shock, "The waves just got a little bigger, didn't they?"

"Looks like it." Don's manager replied, "What's strange about that?"

"It strikes me as being a little weird..." Don said, "seeing as how there's no wind tonight, and... eh, it's probably nothing."

Then, Don went back to what he was doing as, unknown to him, a soggy figure stepped onto the shore, not far away...

* * *

To be continued...


	7. Issue 7: Great Power Part 2

Note: This tale takes place before Xavier Institute Neo Issue 1, chronologically, but I'm posting it afterwards to explain things that came before. Just wanted to avoid confusion.

* * *

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 7

"Great Power..."

Part 2 of 2

* * *

The ski mask and gloves, of course, were absolutely necessary. It was obvious to Peter Parker that if he was going to be using his newly-acquired power, he couldn't let on who he was just yet, not even to potential employers, and prize fights were hardly steady employment. The man at the front desk looked bored as Peter approached. Apparently, challengers for Crusher Hogan were rare.

"Excuse me." Peter said, drawing the guy's attention, more to his mask and gloves than anything.

"You ain't tryin' ta stick me up, are ya?" The guy asked, looking tired and sarcastic.

"Uh... no thanks." Peter replied, "Actually, I wanted to apply to fight Crusher Hogan."

The man looked even more sarcastic when Peter said that, but he responded by clearing several application papers off his desk, and at first, Peter was worried the guy would refuse him out-of-hand, until the man pulled a chair up to the desk.

"Have a seat, kid." he said, "I'd offer ya a drink too, but ya don't look like you're old enough."

"Yeah..." Peter muttered, "Thanks."

"Look, kid." the guy said, taking his seat behind the desk, "I know how strapped people are for cash these days, but there's some things ya gotta know. First off, Crusher Hogan is one of the strongest guys in the world. That guy can bend three-inch metal rods with his bare hands. Plus, he's been fighting and training ever since he was just a little boy. These days, he's got so much power in those arms of his, he could probably kill ya in a fight by accident if ya ain't strong enough. So kid... You still think you're up for this?"

At first, Peter did find the man's words a little intimidating, until he recalled his own metal-bending feats in the junkyard that night, and smiled.

"Yeah." Peter said, "He sure sounds tough, but I think I can still win."

"Then ya won't mind a little strength test first." the man said, and quickly put one arm up on the desk.

"Beat me in arm wrestling, kid." the man said, "Do it easily. If ya can't do that, ya ain't in Crusher's league."

Peter swallowed, but put one hand up on the desk alongside the man's, ready to arm-wrestle him. The man sitting in front of him wasn't much taller than he was, but he was definitely broader, and Peter could see a well-formed muscle structure in those broad shoulders and large arms. Regardless, he remembered his feats of earlier that night, and he wasn't afraid. As soon as the man's arm came at his, grabbing his gloved hand, Peter knew he was going to have to avoid using his full strength. The guy was struggling with all his might, and Peter had barely been putting up any resistance at all.

At last, being careful not to apply too much pressure to the man's fingers, Peter pushed his opponent's hand backwards onto the table, less than three seconds after the contest had started. The guy at the desk looked absolutely stunned, as he rubbed his sore arm. Given Peter's slim build, he'd never expected such phenomenal strength.

"Whoa..." the guy muttered as he looked at Peter from across the desk in awe, "Yeah, kid. Yeah, you're tough enough. You'll survive. I just can't believe in. I mean, you look like such a shrimp."

"Sometimes smaller creatures have greater proportionate strength." Peter replied with a smile, "Spiders can carry several times their bodyweight."

"Yeah..." the guy muttered, "Yeah, whatever you say. You really surprised me, kid. Okay, you can go in there whenever you're ready. I'll tell them to set up the cameras. What's your wrestler name?"

"Huh? Wrestler name?"

"Yeah. I mean, you wear a mask, right? You must have some kinda phony wrestler name..."

"Uh... I hadn't thought that far ahead?"

"Oh, brother. Look, just go in there and fight. We'll call ya 'the challenger' for now. When ya lose, nobody's gonna care about your name, alright?"

"What if I win?" Peter asked, trying his best to grin.

"If you win, then you'd better have a name all planned out. The guys watching over the internet are gonna want some way to identify their new champion."

Quickly, the man drew out his phone, as Peter made his way into the next room, to where the ring was located. There was a wrestling match already in progress, and a few dozen people were seated in the bleachers surrounding the ring. The two men in the ring were definitely fighting for real. Peter could see the way one man grabbed the other, and he could see the bruises that inevitably formed on the skin of the slower man, as he was knocked to the mat with a quick strike from the other man's lower arm. The faster man then kicked the other man in the side, as he lay on the mat, grabbed him, lifted him over his head, and in only a moment, the man collided with the ground outside the ring. Peter could definitely see that it was no kind of sport for kids, as the man slowly got up, bruised and defeated, and passed by him on the way out, looking him in the eye on surprise.

"Are you fighting next, kid?" the defeated wrestler asked.

"Yeah." Peter replied, not sure what else to say.

"Good luck." the guy said, patting Peter on the shoulder, "I could never keep up with Hogan. He's way too fast."

Peter felt more than a little surprised by that comment. He'd been able to keep up with all of the moves he'd seen Hogan use.

"That's why I'm called Crusher Hogan!" the wrestler in the ring exclaimed, "Don't mess around with the big CH!"

"Hogan! Hogan! Hogan!" the people in the stands chanted as Peter approached the ring.

"I... uh... I'm the new challenger..." Peter said in a somewhat hesitant voice. Only Crusher Hogan seemed to have heard him over the din of the crowd, chanting their champion's name.

"Kid, you gotta yell it! Don't be a wuss! They hate that!" Crusher replied in the same tone of voice as Peter, at which point, Peter could see that Crusher wasn't really as mean as he pretended to be. Fighting was all he knew how to do, and he was willing to play the mean guy for the crowd, if it meant he could keep fighting, but even if he kept up the facade from that point on, Peter could no longer be fooled into thinking that Crusher Hogan wanted him to get hurt.

When he realized that, Peter remembered the truth about why he himself was there. The fight was a job, and he was doing it for money. He didn't have to be nervous about that. With that, he felt his inner confidence expanding a hundredfold, and in one swift leap, Peter was in the ring, exclaiming "I'm the new challenger!"

"New challenger!" Hogan replied in a gruff kind of shout, "Bring it on! Yeah!"

The crowd continued to chant Hogan's name as the bell rang, the cameras rolled, and the fight began. However, before either one could actually attack the other, Peter could hear Hogan saying, just soft enough that the crowd couldn't hear it "I never seen a man jump like that before, kid. I think I might actually get to have some fun with this."

Then, Hogan charged at Peter, lashing out with his arms, just as he had to the other wrestler. Peter, however, saw the attack coming for what felt, to him, like several seconds, and reacted quickly, leaning backwards, out of range of the blow, as the pressure in his head warned him to the danger. However, bent over like that, Peter had left his legs easy prey for Crusher's left foot, which shot out and tripped him up, knocking him to the mat. When Crusher moved to kick him as he had the previous man, however, Peter decided to start moving a little faster, and grabbed Hogan's foot, knocking him over. Hogan, in turn, reacted to that by grabbing the mat with both hands, and flipping over, until he was standing upright again, and by that point, Peter had gotten his footing back.

"You ain't just any old kid." Crusher observed, "You've got moves, and you're really tough and fast. When I saw you, I never thought you'd give me the chance to really cut loose."

"Cut loose?" Peter asked, realizing after only a moment that he was still shouting, and Crusher could see that the crowd had definitely heard him.

"Yeah!" Crusher exclaimed for the crowd's benefit, "I've been taking it easy up to now, 'cause I didn't want to kill this kid, but now, no more mister nice guy!"

The crowd was largely thrilled by that announcement, continuing their chant, as Hogan and Peter faced each other again.

"There's a whole other level of power I never use with the other guys." Hogan said, "I don't use it, 'cause if I did, I'd probably kill 'em, but a tough kid like you... you'll probably survive."

"In that case, maybe I'd better stop holding back too." Peter replied, grinning behind his mask.

"W-what?" Hogan asked, caught off guard for a moment, but he was soon on the attack again. He was convinced that Peter's words were nothing more than a bluff, and he was ready to really cut loose with the new challenger.

The audience itself could barely keep track of Crusher's moves as he lashed out with both arms, forcing Peter back again, then with his foot, but instead of being tripped up, as he had been before, Peter leapt backwards, away from the kick. Soon, Crusher was attacking again; mostly with large, upper-body blows, but Peter reacted, that time, by ducking off to one side so quickly that even Crusher could barely see him, and in a swift move, Peter Parker drove his arm into Crusher's midsection.

As soon as Peter's lower arm made contact with Hogan's stomach, the wrestler reacted, slamming his arms against Peter's, to knock them away, then jumped back himself, gasping for breath.

"That... that hurt..." Hogan said, a little angrily at first, then after a moment more, a delighted smile crept across his face as he exclaimed "I... I don't believe it! That hurt! You hurt me! I've never been so happy!"

Peter looked a little confused as Hogan exclaimed, "All these years, thinking I was the best, then you come along and raise the bar. I'll need to keep my guard up to win this fight. I can't make any mistakes with you. You're by far the strongest person that I have ever fought! Come at me one more time, and this time, show me everything you've got!"

Peter could see, in that comment, just what an expert fighter Crusher was. Even that last blow of Peter's hadn't quite been his full strength. Almost, but not quite. The fact that Crusher had been able to tell that proved just what a genius he was at fighting. In a way, Peter was starting to feel a thrill as well, as he used his full speed and strength at that moment, dashing to one side of the ring, and then leaping to the other, as Crusher readied a defense. In a moment more, Peter was in the air over Crusher's head, driving towards his opponent with both hands aimed downward in a double-fisted blow. Reacting with all the speed he could summon, Crusher grabbed both of Peter's wrists, with the intent of throwing him out of the ring, but Peter saw the danger, thanks to his helpful danger sense, and reacted by bringing both legs up in one swift motion, where they struck Crusher in the chest with such force, that he couldn't keep hold of Peter any longer. Then, with one swift headbutt while his foe was stunned, Peter Parker had finished the fight, and Crusher Hogan was laid out, unconscious on the mat.

Peter smiled as he carefully dropped the unconscious Crusher outside the ring, and then made his announcement to the audience. Spider-powers, gotten from a spider bite. There was only one kind of wrestler name that Peter could have used.

"Wrestling fans!" a man with a microphone exclaimed from nearby, "We've got a brand new champion! What is this challenger's name?"

"Just call me Spider-man!" Peter exclaimed with an exaltation that was greater than anything he'd ever felt before, "I'm the new strongest man in the world!"

* * *

"Spider-man..." the guy at the front desk said, a look of true awe and shock in his face as he handed Peter a stack of bills, "H-here's the money. Five grand, all in cash, just like we promised."

"Hey, thanks." Peter said, pocketing the dough, "I'd better go put this someplace safe, but I think I'll be able to find something to spend it on pretty soon."

"Yeah..." the guy said, "Yeah, I'll bet. Look, ki-Spider-man. If you don't want to give me your phone number, that's alright, but just take my card."

At that point, the man handed Peter a card with information all over it, describing him as Jack Donahue; wrestling agent.

"I talk to guys all over the place who're looking for a fighter like you." Jack said, "If you ever need more money, you just give me a call. We can work it out, okay?"

"Sure..." Peter said, realizing that that night had been probably the best night of his life, "Sure, I'll do that."

In his head, Peter was already planning how to call Jack only from pay phones and store phones open to customers, but he didn't mention any of that as he stepped out the front door and into the street. He was just about to head for home in time for bed, however, when he bumped into someone he hadn't expected to see so soon. Crusher Hogan was standing over him again.

"Hi." Peter said, "Something up?"

"Yeah..." Crusher said; a serious look on his face, "Can I talk to you in private for a second, Spider-Man?"

Peter couldn't see any reason not to talk to Hogan, in private or otherwise, so the two moved into one of the alleyways adjoining the building they'd both just emerged from, though each had taken a different exit.

"Spidey, I... You... don't mind if I call you Spidey, do you?" Hogan asked, sounding a little nervous.

"No. No, I prefer it." Peter realized aloud.

"Great." Hogan replied with a relieved smile, "Look, Spidey, what you did today's really something. I owe you big time."

"Come again?" Spider-man asked, "Didn't I just dethrone you as the wrestling champ here?"

"You sure did." Hogan replied, still smiling as he rubbed his jaw, "Fair and square. I ain't ashamed to admit that, Spidey. In fact, I'm thrilled. Y'see, I don't fight so I can be the best. I fight so I can get better. The thing is, nobody even learns to fight on our level, unless they've got a darn good reason for it, and being top dog... that's no good kind of reason at all."

Peter felt a little embarrassed, listening to Hogan talk like that. He'd gotten all his strength and his speed in one freak accident. Hogan had needed to work for his, and in the end, Peter's only good reason for fighting that day had been to win money, which was, if anything, a less substantial reason to fight, but he kept his mouth shut about it. Hogan clearly respected him, and he didn't want to throw that respect away.

"For the last couple years, I figured I was already the best. Either I was stronger than the other guy, or I was faster, or I could pull off a move he couldn't respond to... I'm only about twenty-eight, Spidey. I was worried I'd hit my stride at a young age. I was afraid I couldn't get better anymore. You showed me that ain't true, and that's why I owe you so much. I can tell you're even younger than I am, but you beat me, and now that I know about you, Spider-man, there's a new challenge for Crusher Hogan to rise to. It's what I've been looking for these past two years, and I owe you big time for giving me that."

"Uh... no problem?" Peter asked, not sure how else to respond.

"There's one more thing I wanted to say too." Crusher continued, "I need to give you some advice. I can tell you wear a mask for a reason. Don't ever take it off again. Don't let nobody find out who you really are."

At first, Peter wasn't sure what Hogan was saying, but suddenly, he realized that Crusher's advice was coming, not just from a casual belief, philosophy or aesthetic, but from personal experience.

"You used to fight from behind a mask." Peter realized aloud.

"That's right." Hogan replied, "When I took that mask off, I figured it'd be the high point of my career, and for a couple weeks, people were thrilled, but they got bored with my face afterwards. They liked me better when I still had a mask, and a mystery. But that ain't why I'm telling you not to take the mask off."

Peter didn't dare to speak as Crusher continued his explanation, however, "When my family and friends found out who I was, and it didn't take them long to hear about it, they were horrified. As great a fighter as I was, to them, I was still just a fighter, and they couldn't deal with that. I was making a fortune on big fights and big victories, but they didn't want a wrestler in the family, so they told me that I had to give up fighting if I wanted to keep living with them. But fighting's the only thing I'm really good at, Spidey. I'm good at it, and I love it. I couldn't give it up. Not for no one. So, I ain't seen 'em since then."

"If people in your life find out how powerful you really are," Crusher said as he looked Peter in the mask, "they'll shy away from you, and stop talking to you, and if they're anything like my folks, they might even disown you. People are scared of big power, Spidey, no matter who they are. It's only tough guys like us that feel different about it. I know you've got your reasons to fight, and I could see how much you loved it out there in the ring today. I did too. But if you start to think you might want to take that mask off and show the world just who the amazing Spider-Man really is, you'd better be damn sure that fighting is what you want more than anything else."

Crusher's short speech had filled Peter Parker with doubts, and as the wrestler turned to leave, Peter spoke up again, "Think we'll ever fight again?"

"Yeah, I think so." Hogan replied, turning back to face Peter again for a moment, "But next time, I'll be stronger and faster, and I'll have a few new moves. Then I'll win."

"Best of luck." Spidey replied with a smile, "Keep getting better."

"You too, champ." Crusher Hogan replied as he put up the hood on his jacket, and headed off down the street. Peter had a lot to think about as he headed home from the arena that night.

* * *

As slowly as the time passed in front of the eyes of Peter Parker, in his mind, it seemed like a blur. In his free time, Peter started work on wrist-mounted devices that would deploy a combination of chemical enzymes, similar to those that spiders used. In short, it was a quick and easy means of making sticky ropes, nettings and barriers of a super-strong variety. The chemicals involved in those enzymes cost Peter money, of course, but with an average of two fights a week, Peter wasn't exactly at a loss for funds, particularly since many of his victories netted him even more than that first fight with Crusher. Still, the thought that money was his only reason for fighting made Peter feel just a little discontented, even as he realized that the web-shooters he'd designed were enough of a breakthrough to bring before manufacturers, rather than his science class. In short, although Peter had some discontentment, things had generally been looking up for him in his after-school time.

Making friends with Harry had helped too, and giving Flash Thompson a reason not to chase him around anymore had been a bonus. Over the last week or so, Peter's casual acquaintance with Harry Osborn had become a genuine friendship, until it had gotten to the point where each of them talked with the other about all manner of things that happened to them, from projects and homework to their deepest dreams. Peter never told Harry, however, about his spider powers, or the web-shooters he'd designed, or about the wrestling he'd been doing on the side, though he probably would have, if not for Hogan's warning.

It could hardly be said that Harry had become any less weird since Peter had first met him. In fact, his odd behavioral quirks were more noticeable than ever, as their friendship grew, but then, Peter had certainly not become any more normal in the meantime either, and the important thing was that the two of them still enjoyed each other's company. In Harry's case, it was nice to have anyone simply and unhesitatingly treat him like an equal, and in Peter's eyes, Harry's total lack of judgmentalism was refreshing. It was nice to meet someone who didn't think that anything you'd ever done was really all that bad. Harry knew more of the world by far than Peter did, but he tended not to judge people by the world's standards, or indeed, by any standards at all. It was easy to feel welcome in the presence of someone like that.

The only thing about Harry that worried Peter a little in that respect, was that it sometimes seemed like his tendency not to judge others didn't come from mercy, but rather, from the fact that he himself; Harry Osborn, had probably done a lot worse in the past, or simply didn't understand the difference between right and wrong. Peter didn't like having to face it, but what Uncle Ben had said about Harry had probably been true. He was a rebellious young man because his father had never been his friend, or a good role model, but he also lacked responsibility in the extreme, which, while it was easy to put up with, and even enjoy in conversation, would have spelled impending danger in Uncle Ben's view. A lack of responsibility at a young age, he'd once told Peter, can lead to lots of mistakes when you get older.

Even while Peter worried about Harry, though, and buckled down to his studies, there was one other thing that really arrested his attention. Mary Jane seemed to be noticing him more often.

Of course, it might just have been that Peter's recent experiences in the ring had given him a greater courage in other areas of his life as well. He could only vaguely remember what it was like when he'd used to flee from Mary Jane's merest glance. More recently, whenever she looked at him, he responded by looking back, directly into her eyes as if expecting her to say something, but unready to make the first move. Mary Jane wasn't a shy person, and she seemed to see something in Peter's face, that she enjoyed looking at, but every so often, she'd just turn back away after a while, and she never said a word, or seemed to be encouraging Peter to say one. Peter wasn't really sure what it was that Mary Jane wanted, which only captivated him all the more. Still, as puzzling as it was, it was progress, and Peter didn't feel any worse about it. In fact, it felt wonderful to be able to look right into the eyes of the girl he had a crush on, without falling all over himself. There was a feeling of intimacy that the eyes brought about; one that would have terrified the old Peter Parker, before his recent experiences had made him a bolder man. Even Uncle Ben seemed to notice the change, remarking that it seemed like Peter was ready to take on the world. Things were really going up for Peter Parker.

Then, one evening, as Peter left the arena, having just finished with a particularly easy fight, he heard someone shouting "Stop him! Someone stop that man!"

At the time, Peter was dressed in his spider-man outfit; not the original with the ski-mask, but a red and blue affair with black, web-looking designs all over it that Peter's agent had gotten made for him. There was even a big, black spider on the chest. A little gaudy maybe, but it fit Peter like a glove, and it certainly did make him look a lot more like a wrestler, despite his slim build. Even the man running towards him with gloves on, and a small bag in one fist seemed to regard him with unease as he rushed by.

Peter could have stopped that man. He could have stopped him easily, just by sticking out one foot at the right time, and tripping the guy up, but he didn't do it. Although the hardest part of his latest fight had been learning to restrain himself from hurting the other guy, Peter still felt exhausted, physically and emotionally. Despite the money in his pocket, he was feeling very tired and groggy, and a number of other things. For whatever reason, Peter didn't take the initiative, or try to stop the robber from getting away, and in a couple more seconds, a man with disheveled brown hair, dressed in a red shirt and a pair of brown, casual pants, wearing a name tag that described him as "Albert," approached, looking deeply disappointed and sad. For a moment, it looked like the man with the name tag was about to fly into a rage at everyone in the nearby area, including Peter, but after a second or two, he just sighed and shook his head, then returned to what he'd been doing. At the time, Peter hadn't given that deep sigh much thought, but there were volumes of sadness hidden in it, over the fact that the world had so few heroes.

* * *

Samantha Deych carefully gathered up her groceries in their various plastic bags, as she headed out of the store, and in the direction of her low-rent apartment. She wouldn't have much money on hand until next week, but those groceries would tide her over until then, and there was always the chance that she might manage to get some overtime. Quickly, she headed across the park to her home, but as she made the trip, she realized that something was wrong. There wasn't really anyone around in that section of the park so early in the morning, but for some reason, Samantha couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. Then, just as she passed by a small pond, near the middle of the park, she heard a voice she'd hoped never to hear again.

"Good news and bad news time, Sam."

It was Morrie. It had to be Morrie. Samantha recognized the voice, and besides, aside from Morrie, only a couple of other people ever called her Sam. She slowly turned around to face his direction, and sure enough, there he was, dressed in a black t-shirt and some pretty nice-looking dark pants. He was leaning against a tree, and he seemed puzzled, or at least a little unsure of how he was supposed to feel.

"Y-yes..." Samantha muttered, "I mean, you were so angry before, so I was worried..."

"Ah, I'm over that now." Morrie replied, not looking at her as he talked, "If you just want to be friends, we can just be friends. S'no big deal."

Samantha fell silent when he said that. With his words, he was saying things that she thought might just be a little too good to be true, but in his tone of voice, confusion still reigned.

"I think I lost my job again." Morrie said, "It's hard to tell these days. They never have the guts to just up and tell you you're fired."

"Yeah..." Samantha said. Once again, Morrie was looking for sympathy for himself, or at least, it seemed that way, until he spoke again.

"I don't think I'm going to need another job though, Sam."

"Everybody needs work, Morrie." Samantha said, "Don't get discouraged."

"God doesn't need a job." Morrie replied, a grin forming on his lips at last, "He doesn't have to eat or drink, and he doesn't need a place to sleep, or keep warm, or cool. All he needs is love."

"But you're not God, Morrie." Sam reminded him.

"No." Morrie said, "But I'm the next best thing."

"Y'see," Morrie continued as Samantha backed away, "About a week ago, something happened to me. I had a crate fall on me, full of Osborn chemicals. Broke something inside me. I thought I was going to die, but I didn't. I'm still alive. Tell me something, Sam. What do you need to be a god?"

"Well, for one thing, you have to be immortal." Samantha said, a cynical frown forming on her face, "It has to be impossible to kill you."

"Watch this." Morrie exclaimed in delight, and as he said that, he reached up for a large, tall tree nearby, and Samantha shrieked in terror, as his arms stretched out for the top branches, latching onto them easily, then pulling the rest of him up. She could see him balancing carefully on the top branches of the tree only a moment later, over fifty feet up before he let go, leaping off the branches, to begin a mad plunge towards the ground. Samantha screamed again as Morrie fell, hitting the ground in a splash of what looked like water. Then, for a few seconds, there seemed to be nothing left of him, but his clothes and a puddle. Suddenly, however, the water swept the clothes up, rising up off the ground, and in moments, Morrie Bench was standing before her again; the puddle at the end of his legs changing color and shape, until it looked just like his feet once again.

"Wasn't that amazing?" Morrie asked, thrilled as he stepped forth, sliding his feet back into his shoes, "I'm pretty sure nothing at all can kill me anymore."

"Morrie..." Samantha muttered, taking several seconds to try to get a handle on what she'd just seen, "You... You've got some incredible powers, but... but that doesn't make you a god. I mean, gods can perform miracles..."

"Oh, that's right!" Morrie exclaimed in delight, "I forgot to show you the other thing I can do!"

It looked as if Morrie Bench just continued to stand there in the park, but as he did, the ponds, fountains and puddles nearby all started to quiver, then after only a moment, the water within them rose up into the air, forming into an army of tiny water globes, that spread out, floating over the park, reflecting the sunlight in a truly heavenly manner. As terrified as she was, Samantha had to admit that it looked very beautiful.

"This is just the tip of the iceberg." Morrie said, "I can control any water for miles. I can change its shape, position, speed; I can make it stiff on the outside, or wet, I can change its temperature with just a thought, making ice, and water vapors, and control them too, I... Sam, if I haven't become a god, I'm very, very close."

The water bubbles all returned to their ponds, fountains and puddles as Morrie boasted, and for a moment, Samantha was almost taken in by Morrie's incredible feats and indelible bravado, but then, he said something that revealed to her just how little he'd grown.

"Take me back, Sam. I'm not a worthless bum anymore, like I used to be. We can be rich and famous. I could be an international hero, purifying water, and bringing it to the deserts... We could help save the world together. If you were there, it'd all be so easy to do..."

Samantha felt absolutely miserable as she listened to Morrie's speech. The idea of being on the arm of the world's most powerful hero was an enticing one for anybody, but at the same time, she saw that Morrie still had no understanding of just why she'd left him in the first place. He still seemed to think that their relationship hadn't worked because he'd never had much money, or hadn't done a lot of fantastic things, but the truth was, she'd left him because, when it came right down to it, he didn't seem to care about anyone but himself, and as rotten luck would have it, those were the things about him that hadn't changed. Even when he talked about having her there beside him, it was because he thought it would make things easier for him. Even when he talked about helping dying nations, it was because he wanted the glory of being their savior, and with his new abilities, Morrie would be in an even greater position of power over her life, if she ever took him back. When viewed like that, it was a lot easier to see Morrie as a threat than as a gift from heaven. Samantha was terrified of him.

"Morrie, I..." Samantha said, hesitating only a moment before she muttered, "I just can't. Morrie, you never had much power in the past, but that wasn't the reason I left you... I'm sorry, but even if you become a great hero, and a very rich man... I couldn't take you back... Not like before..."

Then, her eyes filled with tears, and her face with terror, Samantha fled towards her apartment, away from Morrie Bench, and in only a moment, Morrie had slammed both hands against the ground as hard as he could, splashing droplets of water in all directions, as every drop of moisture in the park rose and fell as one.

* * *

It was pretty late in the evening one night, when Peter got home from his latest bout with "Cutthroat Mulligan" and headed up along the outside wall, to his bedroom window. However, pretty soon, he could hear the sound of someone inside his room, and quickly climbed up onto the roof. It was probably either Aunt May or Uncle Ben, and it'd just be bad news if either of them saw Spider-man climbing into their nephew's bedroom window, so Peter quickly put away his spider-man outfit, dressed himself in his normal clothes in the shadow of the chimney, and climbed back down to the ground floor, to step inside the house by the front door. Once he got inside, Peter could see that Aunt May was in the living room reading, which meant that the person in his room had to be Uncle Ben. Swiftly, Peter headed upstairs to his room and opened the door, and there stood Ben Parker, examining an enormous spider web that was strung across the ceiling of Peter's room, connecting one wall with the next. Peter practically gasped in shock and alarm, causing Ben Parker to give a start. He could see that Uncle Ben had his prototype web-shooter in one hand.

"P-Peter!" Uncle Ben exclaimed in surprise, "I, um... Oh, why hide it? I found your science project."

Peter felt a little relieved when Uncle Ben said that. It meant that he probably approved of his nephew's latest experiment.

"It's incredible, isn't it?" Peter asked as Uncle Ben handed him the web-shooter, "Don't worry about the fibers. They dissolve naturally after a few hours. Aunt May isn't going to find them here on Saturday."

"Well, don't let it go to your head, Peter, but you're a genius." Uncle Ben said, smiling, "I'll bet if you hang onto royalties for this, you'll make a fortune. By then, I bet May won't even mind a little web around the house."

Peter, sadly, knew what Uncle Ben was talking about. Aunt May was an arachnophobiac; she was terrified of spiders. As Peter put the web-shooter away in its trunk, he felt pretty lousy about the way he'd been making money lately. He liked fighting. He enjoyed it, but he was sure Uncle Ben and Aunt May wouldn't understand.

"You don't mind me being up here, do you?" Uncle Ben asked, a little ashamed as he touched one of the webs again, "I mean I'm not disturbing anything...?"

Peter sighed, but said nothing more. He'd found Uncle Ben's intrusion to be distressing and worrying, and as much as he liked his aunt and uncle, there were things about him that he didn't want them prying into. Still, he couldn't tell them that straight out. He still cared enough about their feeling to let them live in their own little world, while he thrived in his.

After waiting a while for a response, and not receiving one, Uncle Ben started to look sad and worried. Peter was letting things get under his skin a little more often lately, and thanks to that brilliant device he'd invented, it wouldn't be long before he became a pretty powerful person. The only question was, would he be responsible enough to handle that much power? Those were Uncle Ben's thoughts as he left the room, worry littering his mind.

* * *

For most of the following day, Peter was trying to think of good ways to keep his aunt and uncle from prying into his room anymore. The obvious solution was to keep saving up, and eventually move out, but that was probably still a couple years down the line, not for money reasons, but because of his age. Most people didn't want to rent to guys who were still in high school.

At lunch, Peter had a nice discussion with Harry on the subject. Harry had some experience in ditching his dad when there was something he wanted to do, but even as Harry talked about it so casually, Peter couldn't help feeling that there was something unnerving around the subject of ditching one's guardians, and keeping things safe from their prying eyes.

Peter Parker was still feeling pretty nervous about the idea of going home that day, so instead, he wandered into town and bought a strong box with a padlock to go with it, and a key to go with that. By the time he was done with that long walk, short purchase and another long walk, the sun was starting to dip down over the horizon, and as Peter approached his street, he could almost see the Aurora Borealis on the horizon. It was a beautiful sunset; one of those times when the natural world serves to remind you just how nice the world can be sometimes, even if other people cause you problems, or you worry about stuff a lot, sometimes life hands you lemonade. However, as Peter got closer to his house, that lemonade began a steady regression back into lemons. What he'd mistaken previously for vague lights in the sky were coming from the lights of two police squad cars parked in front of his house.

Panic gripped Peter Parker by the heart as he rushed into the house, flinging the door open with a little too much force as Aunt May rushed forward to embrace him in tears. Something horrible had happened.

"What's going on?" Peter shouted in something closely resembling his wrestler voice.

Aunt May seemed unable to form intelligent words at the moment, so Peter had directed the question more at one of the four police officers in his house; the one closest to him. The policeman looked sad, and a little ashamed, then said, "I'm sorry, but there's been a burglary. Are you Mrs. Parker's son?"

"I'm... her nephew..." Peter said, hesitating for a moment, pretty sure of what was coming next, as the grip around his heart tightened.

"Your uncle, Ben Parker was ambushed by the burglar." the policeman replied, "From the looks of things, he tried to defend himself, but the man had a gun... Son, I'm sorry."

Quickly, Peter shrugged off Aunt May, tears rolling down his cheeks as he brushed past the police officers, and burst into the pantry. Uncle Ben's body had been moved since the incident, but his blood was still on the floor. Peter's emotions resolved themselves into a burning rage, as both of his fists tightened hard. In only a moment, he was back in the room with Aunt May and the police officer. Without hesitation, Peter walked up to him and stared him right in the man's eyes as he asked, "Who did this? Where is he?"

"Easy, son." the policeman replied, trying to calm Peter down, "We've traced this guy to a spot near the docks. It's pretty dark down there, but it shouldn't take us long to find him."

However, Peter had already made an important decision. If the man was down at the docks, he was probably trying to stow away on a departing boat, and that meant that the police would be too late. In fact, Peter could only think of one living thing that could travel fast enough to reach the docks, the boat and the burglar in time to bring him to justice; Spider-man.

* * *

The equipment that Spider-man chose to take with him in his pursuit of the killer, who'd murdered the man he admired most in his life, was effective, but limited in bulk. He shoved a digital camera into one pocket on his spider-man costume, to take pictures of potential evidence, and strapped the homemade web-shooters to his wrists, pulling his gloves down over them, and punching holes in the gloves at just the right spots, to let the webbing out. It was a patchwork job, but it was the best he could do over the course of ten seconds, even at his amazing speed.

Pretty soon, Spider-man had crossed his section of town in many enormous leaps, and was headed straight for the docks, using the web-shooters to fire out sticky webbing, to use as ropes to swing on. Once he got into the main body of New York City, with its many large skyscrapers, swinging on webs became easier, because the taller buildings gave him something to attach his web lines to, but Peter was too hurt and furious to think of that sort of thing as being easy or hard. There was only one thing he cared about at the moment. He wanted that murderer in his hands.

Recklessly soaring through the air at the end of one web line after another, Spider-man made it to the docks in under a minute, watching as the squad cars that were headed in the same direction fell behind. They were fast, but Spider-man was faster, and as he got to the docks, he quickly scanned the horizon for boats. It was dark out, but he had no trouble seeing the boats, for some reason, and it quickly became obvious that only one boat in the area was leaving the docks.

With all the strength and speed he could summon up, Spider-man dashed forward across the roofs of three buildings in a row, and then leapt with all his might, to discover that he hadn't quite been able to make it. The boat was just a few feet too far away.

As Spider-man hurtled through the air in the direction of the boat, about to land in the drink, however, another idea came to him, and he let himself fall down. As the deck of the boat rose up above the reach of his arms, Spider-man flipped over in mid-air, and affixed his feet to the side of the boat. He was satisfied to find that they stuck just as well as his hands did, halting his descent, and attaching him to the boat's side.

* * *

"Geez," Carradine muttered, his mask still on, as he dared to look out the porthole again. Nobody else had seen him get on board, but that freak in the red and blue must have, because he'd tried to make a leap all the way to the ship. What worried Carradine at that point, was that he hadn't heard a splash when the freak fell. Carefully, he fingered the weapon in his pocket. Three more bullets. He'd have to try to avoid using it, though. It was a cheap gun; no silencer, which meant that if he shot at anybody while he was on the ship, the whole crew would know where he was, and it was a crew of seventeen. Taking the chance that all of them would be cowards at gunpoint was a risky gamble at best. Carradine's best bet to get away, when he tried to think it over, would be to hide out among the crates for the next two days, stealing whatever food he needed from the supplies until the ship made port at wherever it was going. Even if it was just going right back to New York, though, there was a chance the cops would have stopped looking for him by then. They probably didn't even know which ship he'd gotten onto.

As those thoughts cycled through his head, Carradine felt something collide with his jaw so hard that he could feel his bones and teeth loosening up, as he was thrown backwards by the force of the blow, to the floor of the cargo hold he'd been stowing away in.

"That's me taking it easy on you." Carradine heard from the darkness, but he couldn't see anything. Quickly, he whipped out his gun and fired, first in the direction the punch had come from, and then to the side, at a noise he'd just heard.

"You must be almost out of ammo by now." Carradine heard from the darkness, "When you run out, I'm going to snap you like a twig."

Carradine was panicking by that point. His plan had already been blown to bits. The crew must have heard those gunshots, which meant they'd be down in the hold soon to get him, even if that guy in the darkness didn't. The only kind of plan he could still make, he figured, would be to kill his attacker, and hide while the crew was looking over the body, and he had to do it quickly.

Carradine knew he couldn't just fire blindly into the darkness again. If he wanted his attacker's corpse, he needed to lure him out, and to do that, he needed to come close to getting away.

Quickly, Carradine rushed for the exit, and in a flash, the figure was on top of him in a blur of red and blue, grabbing Carradine and slamming him against the wall. That was when Carradine fired his weapon one last time in desperation.

Spider-man saw Carradine's finger push down on the trigger. He saw the bullet spring from the gun with at least twice the speed of Crusher Hogan's fastest blow, and he reacted, dropping Carradine, and leaping to one side, out of the way of the bullet just in time. Carradine had clearly never seen anyone move that fast. He stared in awe, as Spider-Man grabbed his gun out of his hand, and tossed it across the cargo hold, then grabbed Carradine again, that time holding him up by the armpits in a way that gave the burglar the distinct impression that Spider-man meant to rip his arms out of his sockets.

"I want to see your face." Spider-man said, "Then, you're going to pay for your crimes."

Quickly, grabbing the empty gun from the killer's hand with a web-line, and holding Carradine by one ankle in another of his hands, Spider-man leapt from the hold of the boat, to the amazement of everyone on deck, some of whom had just worked up the courage to start heading down, to learn what the gunshots had been.

"Sorry." Spider-man said, facing the crew of the ship for a moment, "You guys had a rat problem."

Then, Spider-man leapt towards shore, tucked the empty gun under one arm, and shot out another web-line, until he and Carradine were right in front of one another on one of the harbor rooftops. Right there and then, Spider-man had every intention of grabbing Carradine by the head in one hand, and by the feet in the other and snapping him over his knee, but when he tore off the killer's mask, and saw the face underneath it, he knew he couldn't do kill that man.

The man underneath that mask was the very same man that Spider-man had seen before, running off with the cloth bag the previous day; the man he could have stopped with even the slightest effort or attempt to step outside of himself for a moment. For a short time, the murderer seemed to be too out of breath to say a word, but when he did finally manage to get enough air to speak, his words chilled Spider-man to the bone.

"Why now?"

Why now, indeed. As far as the killer knew, Spider-man was just a fighter in a wrestler costume. He wasn't connected to Ben Parker in any way. That man who crouched before Spider-man on the rooftop, helpless and defeated, probably wouldn't have even recognized the name "Parker" if Spider-man had chosen to bring it up just then. His part in the tragedy of the day had been as the villain, and certainly, he bore more responsibility for what had happened to Uncle Ben than anybody, but Spider-man knew that he couldn't bring himself to kill that man, particularly since he also had a share in that blame.

Ignoring Carradine's protestations, Spider-man tied the man up in web, webbing his gun to his feet, just in case the police wanted evidence. Then, he scanned the docks until he found a piece of paper and a pencil, quickly wrote up a note and stuck it to Carradine, then dropped him in mid-swing in front of a police cruiser, from about three feet up, and was gone before anyone could ask him any questions. The note that he'd written, Peter decided, would have to explain everything.

"This man is the murderer of Ben Parker. He's also a robber and a burglar. You will find the murder weapon attached to his feet. If someone is needed to testify against him, simply contact Ben Parker's surviving relatives. Something tells me they won't be too shy about it."

"This has been an act of civic duty from your friendly neighborhood Spider-man."

* * *

No matter what anyone says, when someone you care about is taken from you for no good reason, the healing process is not a quick one. Certainly, the week that followed the funeral was a hard one for Peter. He'd lost his Uncle Ben, whom he cared more about than anyone in the world. That loss filled Peter Parker's thoughts for pretty much the entire week. He couldn't bring himself to talk to Harry about it for almost three days, probably because he didn't want to face his memories of talking about ways to keep Uncle Ben from spying on him. He couldn't give his agent a call anymore either. As much as he felt like fighting, he'd known his career as a fighter was over as soon as he'd seen the article about Carradine's capture in the Daily Bugle.

"The great speed with which this dangerous criminal was captured" the article had said, "has been partly attributed, by the police, to a masked individual answering to the name of Spider-man. Spider-man has achieved some fame recently in many of the less scrupulous wrestling and cage fighting matches in New York over the last week and a half. 'These are the sorts of places where people fight each other for real, so that they can win money.' a respected police officer commented to us, 'The law discourages that sort of thing in New York.'"

"Still, the leap from underground fighter to vigilante is a big one. 'One is barely legal,' a spokesperson for the police department told us, 'the other definitely isn't. When we found that criminal Carradine all tied up in web, the guy was covered in bruises. No broken bones, thank goodness, but where I come from, that's called assault, and it's against the law.'"

"At the moment, opinion is divided as to the merit of this spider-man. Some hail him as a hero for being willing to brave the dangers of bullets and crime to see that justice is done, while others find his unstructured vigilante methods to be too indicative of a violent loose cannon. I've already made my decision about what I think, where Spider-man is concerned, but the people of New York need to ask themselves the very same question at this juncture. Can we afford to trust our very safety to a man who hides behind a mask, or is the amazing Spider-man nothing more than a larger danger that we should be guarding ourselves again; the sign of what weapons will look like in this coming generation? Can we afford to say that Spider-man is not a danger to any one of us living in this city? Can we assume that he is not a menace?"

* * *

Despite his physical superiority to the man sitting in front of him, Peter Parker fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. J. Jonah Jameson was the editor of the Daily Bugle; an average-height man with gray hair and a small mustache that reminded Peter of the one once owned by Hitler, in no small part because Jameson was perhaps the most pessimistic man Peter had ever met.

"Huh." Jameson said as he looked over the pictures Peter had handed him, "Huh. This one's not too bad. Yeah, yeah, this I could use. The rest of these are c-grade, though. We can put 'em in the files, but we can't give you much. No higher than two hundred bucks for the bunch of 'em."

"I want three hundred at least." Peter said. Jameson cast him a very brief glance, then looked back at the pictures, and gave a short nod, as he started making out a check to Peter Parker. A moment later, Peter had the check in his hand for three hundred bucks; no more, no less. Jameson was dependable, at least.

"Look, if you come across any more like this, let me know." Jameson said, "I'll pay you top dollar for anything good. Robbie!"

However, as Peter was about to leave the office, a tall, black man in a suit rushed in, and Peter heard Jameson tell him "Page one, Robbie. Spider-man; Menace to Society. Do another expose on all the reasons why we can't trust him."

Peter felt, right then and there, like saying something about that. Actually, what he really felt like doing was pummeling Jonah, and making him say uncle, but that would hardly have proved his point. Still, Peter got the distinct, and correct impression that he was helping Jameson to spread his anti-Spider-man garbage, and as desperately as Peter needed the money, that had to stop sooner or later.

"This isn't good enough." Peter realized silently, "I need to find work with people I can actually stand."

However, just as Peter was about to leave the office, he heard a young, brown-haired lady from the front desk in front of Jameson's office announce "Mister Jameson, there's another call about the runaway water thing."

"Runaway water?" Peter asked aloud, although it wasn't so loud, that anyone could have heard him in such a busy newsroom.

"What's that?" Jameson asked, "Five times in three days?"

"Closer to twenty-five." the young lady replied, "This one isn't too far off, either."

"Alright." Jameson said, then demanded, "Parker, why not check that out? Get the address from Miss Brant here and hurry over there. It's probably nonsense, but you're new. You've got nothing to lose."

"Yeah..." Peter replied, a little put off by that remark, "Yeah, sure."

* * *

Using his enhanced speed, it only took Peter a few seconds to change into his Spider-man outfit, and reach the roof of the building without anybody seeing him. Then, he headed off, leaping across rooftops, and casting a web-line here or there, whenever the distance between buildings was too great to jump. At last, he could see panicked customers and terrified passers-by watching the building at the address he'd been sent to check out, and sure enough, small globes of water did certainly seem to be emerging from the building at a good pace. As he got closer, Spider-man could see that it was a jewelry store, and the water globes were carrying away gemstones, gold, and other precious items. They were all expensive items, but also things which, Peter noticed, would look nice and showy all together, and according to Miss Brant, it had been happening all over town.

"Okay." Spider-man said, raising one eyebrow, and tilting his head, as he got closer to the scene of the robbery. From there, he could see that the water globes were vanishing into a grate by the curb, so Spider-man quickly jumped to the sidewalk, drawing just as much shock from the people nearby as the 'robbers' had. In moments, he'd torn the grate out of the ground with his gloved hands, then slipped into the underground drains in pursuit of the gem-carrying globes...

* * *

Samantha Deych had been working for almost twelve hours straight, but, she realized, it was worth it. For another month at least, she'd be able to pay the rent without falling behind, and she'd even be able to save up a little extra for harder times to come. Still, as much as Samantha worried about money in her life, the sight that met her tired eyes when she opened her apartment door was hardly a welcome one. In fact, it caused her to shriek in horror.

Samantha's apartment bore a strong resemblance to Fort Knox. Gold and jewels were piled in enormous heaps on the floor; up to four feet high against the walls. They were heaped onto her chairs and sofa, and they filled the kitchen, the bathroom sink, and the bathtub. She even found that her bed sheets covered a fortune in rubies and sapphires, and in the middle of it all stood Morrie Bench, smiling delightedly with one foot on the pile of valuables.

"I thought I'd put my offer to you another way." Morrie said as Samantha got over her initial shock, "Just think about it for a moment. All this and more can be yours. I acquired it all easily, and no one has the power to bring consequences against me for what I've done."

That was when Samantha realized, to her horror, that all the wealth in her apartment had been stolen.

"No..." she muttered angrily, "You stole all this, didn't you?"

"Only to make a point." Morrie said, "I could return it all just as easily, if you'd rather."

However, Samantha was done being delicate with Morrie. She was done trying to keep from hurting his feelings. If he was going to get the message, she had to tell him straight out.

"I think you've made your point all too well, Morrie." Samantha said with a scowl, "You don't really care about me."

"That's not true!" Morrie exclaimed angrily, "I did all this for you!"

"Did you?" Samantha asked, "You gave me all these things you stole because you wanted me to be happy, knowing full well that even if you're untouchable, I'm not. Didn't it occur to you that I can still be arrested for possession of stolen goods, even if you can't be kept in a cell?"

"I... I'd never let them do that!" Morrie exclaimed, but Samantha cut him off.

"So you'd protect me from the consequences of your crimes. How noble."

"Look, if you don't want me to steal, just say it. I just figured that since I have the power to live outside their rules..."

"Yes. You have the power. You, you, you. It's always about you, Morrie. Whenever we meet, you always complain about something that happened to you, or more recently, you brag about it. You could have easily asked me what I wanted most in the whole world instead of littering my apartment with these hot gems, but no. You decided that you wanted to stun me with the things you can do, so you went and did this showy thing to get my attention, and impress me so much that I'd forget all about what I want. Well, sorry to disappoint you, Morrie, but it doesn't work like that. Even when we were dating, you never once asked me how I felt."

"I don't want to be yanked around by other people's opinions..." Morrie started, but Sam cut him off again.

"Then you don't know what it means to be in love." Samantha said, "Now get all this garbage out of my house before the cops track it down."

Morrie Bench was furious at that point; more furious than he'd ever been, but what could he do, unless...

Quickly, Morrie held up one hand, feeling the water inside Samantha's body responding to his will. He could feel her muscles struggling against him. In fact, she was almost strong enough to resist, but in the end, he won out, and she floated forward in his direction, her feet an inch off the ground, as she muttered "M-m-morrie... I swear, if you..."

However, in moments, he'd grabbed her by the chin, and pressed his lips against hers. He could feel the warmth of her skin, but when he opened his eyes and looked into hers, he realized that it wasn't the same. The willing intimacy of interest and delight that she'd once shared with him when they'd first begun dating was completely gone. Instead, all he saw was hate.

"Is th-this really... all you want, Morrie...?" Samantha asked, "This s-superficial pleasure?"

Morrie couldn't take it anymore. He let go of Samantha, and didn't even flinch when she slapped him across the face, getting her hand wet for a fraction of a second.

"I'll take the riches when I go." Morrie said, "I'm sorry, Samantha."

"You have no idea what riches are." she said, as water globules started seizing the various items of jewelery, and carrying them off.

* * *

"Smart girl." Morrie heard, the moment he left the building, the globes following him closely, to float away just a moment later with their expensive baggage in tow.

Morrie looked around for the source of the voice for several seconds, before it occurred to him to look up, and there was Spider-man, sitting on the side of the apartment wall. Morrie was still furious, but he didn't lash out. There wasn't any point anymore.

"Passing up power like mine..." Morrie muttered, "Fame, fortune, status, respect... We could have had it all..."

"All the things that you wanted, you mean." Spider-man replied. Morrie didn't say a word, however.

"Since you're returning what you stole, I don't see any reason to try to fight you." Spider-man continued after just a moment, "Besides, I'm pretty sure you'd win. I'm tough, but I can't touch that."

As he said that, Spider-man pointed to the fleeing baubles of water.

"Yeah..." Morrie said, "I can't die. You wouldn't have a chance..."

However, when Morrie said those words, somehow it didn't sound as much like a boast, as a description of some hideous, impending war, or famine, or something else that horrified him terribly. Clearly, he was seeing the truth about having great power.

"Powerful people have their own challenges." Spider-man explained, as he sat on the side of the wall, "I'm not up to your level, but I learned that the hard way. Sometimes, even if you have the power to overwhelm others, you don't have the power to delight them, or earn their praise. It really bites when you know you could snap someone like a twig, but you can't make them like you with that same power..."

"Then you understand!" Morrie exclaimed, trying to grasp any port, in the storm he'd found himself in, "You know how it is..."

"Yes, I do," Spider-man replied with a brief sigh, "and it doesn't get any easier than that. That's why I hide my real face. I want to be able to live a normal life; a life where people I know won't have to fear my powers. The thing is, having power just makes things worse, because if you don't do all you can to stop bad things from happening, when you or someone close to you suffers, you feel responsible for that. With great power, there must come great responsibility. Powerful men often try to get what they want, and in the end, throw away what really matters, while less powerful people try to do the right thing to others, and frequently find joy. It took me a while to learn that lesson, and someone I cared about very much paid for my mistakes."

Morrie didn't speak anymore. He didn't have the will. The words of Spider-man traveled into his thoughts, swimming through his watery head like fish, and that was when Morrie's appearance started to change.

The change started in Morrie's feet, which changed structure and shape, until they closely resembled tiny waterfalls, flowing down on the outside, and back up on the inside. Then it moved up to his legs, towards his torso, where the water in his body seemed to slow in its movements, and simply flow gently. The change moved up continually to his shoulders, then down his arms. By the time it reached his fingertips, Morrie's clothes had fallen away from his nebulous, vague outline of a form, which looked something like a biped made of water. The shape of his face was the only part of him that was distinct or constant. Even the number of fingers he had seemed to change over and over.

"So now the secret's out." Morrie said, anger still clear on his face, "I've thrown my old life away. What am I supposed to do next?"

However, that was when Spider-man recited words he'd heard just recently from someone who'd mattered to him a lot.

"I think people sometimes get a chance to make a big change in their lives, and I think this might be yours. Who knows? Maybe it's mine too. If you decide to let your anger at people control you, you could be mankind's greatest enemy, but if not; if you find that you can use your power responsibly, you really could be a great hero. In the end, it's your choice."

Then, the man of water that Morrie Bench had become started off in the direction of the pier. Spider-man took more than one picture of him as he went, but he didn't seem to mind. At last, he sank up to his knees in the water, then up to his shoulders, then he went under, and was invisible to Spider-man's eyes.

It was the first time since Uncle Ben's death that Spider-man had felt true gratification for anything he'd done or said, and he was actually feeling a great deal better as he started the short trip back to the Daily Bugle building.

* * *

On the following morning, Peter headed down for breakfast with a smile on his face and a reassuring bank statement in his pocket. He definitely hadn't gotten over the loss of Uncle Ben. In fact, he might never 'get over' it, but he was feeling somewhat redeemed for his part in the tragedy, and he knew, deep down inside, that if he kept fighting against those who, like Carradine, preyed on the weak and innocent, he could feel that sense of relief more often.

However, when Aunt May saw his smile that morning, she took it the wrong way.

"I wish I could recover as well as you have, Peter." May said as she prepared her breakfast, "But I'll need longer before I'm ready to smile again. Without... without Ben..."

She trailed off as a lump formed in her throat, but Peter shook his head.

"I'm not ready to admit that he's dead." Peter said, causing Aunt May to look at him in alarm, "Uncle Ben was a very good man, and he understood what was really important in life. Even when some people didn't get what he was trying to tell them, I did. I learned the lessons that he had to teach me, and now, I'm getting the chance to use those lessons in my own life. As long as those lessons live, Uncle Ben isn't really dead. In fact, if I'm right, he'll never die."

Then, Aunt May embraced Peter in tears again, but they were tears of more than just sadness that time, and Peter felt, for once, elated. Uncle Ben had made more of a change in the powerful than he'd thought, because he was alive in one of the most powerful people on earth; the amazing Spider-man.

* * *

End


	8. Issue 8: The Only Way

Note: This tale is the last in a long line of tales that definitely take place before Xavier Institute Neo Issue 1, chronologically, but I'm posting it afterwards to explain things that came before. Many of the "origin tales" coming after this one may take place after the Xavier Institute is attacked or may take place before, but either way, there will be no confusion about it.

* * *

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 8

"The Only Way"

* * *

December 31st, 1999; 7:36 PM

* * *

The sound of a screaming rock band blasted into the night sky out of the radio of Steve's convertible as he pulled up to Loren's house. Bill and Jesse were in the back seat, trying their best to gossip over the sound of the loud music as Loren rushed happily out the front door to the car. It was only once she got into the car that Steve turned down the radio enough that their words could be heard.

"Where we goin', Steve?" Loren asked. It was the dawn of the new millennium, after all, and they were all eager to celebrate. Steve seemed particularly eager to have a good time, but then, he made enough money that he could afford it.

Steve was a surgeon, and a good one at that, despite his relatively young age. He'd managed to get in and out of college in the minimum of years with a doctorate and it hadn't been long before people had started to recognize his success in the field. The magic he could work when he got his hands into the operating room was much remarked upon by his coworkers, and being a successful surgeon had many fringe benefits, one of which Steve held up to show to his friends; a thick wad of twenty dollar bills.

"No way!" Loren exclaimed, ecstatic, "No freakin' way!"

"Think we can make this stack grow any by the end of the night, or will it all be gone?" Steve asked with a smile, "Either way, we'll have some fun."

Loren screamed delightedly. Steve was taking them to the casino. Why not? He had the money, and if he lost it all, he could just earn more. Besides, the money he had with him was probably less than half of what he earned in a month. He was the only person that Loren knew who could have treated her to a night at the casino, and as they took off down the road without any of them wearing seat belts, they knew that on that New Year's Eve, they were going to have a great time.

Steve was at the wheel as he chatted with his friends, driving for a mile, then two, then three, reacting to cars as they popped into his field of vision and staying on the road and in his lane by just barely an inch. He wasn't really paying attention to the road as he drove, but then, that was how he always drove when he and his friends were going somewhere, and it had served him well in the past.

However, as Steve passed his fourth mile on the highway, a truck came, seemingly out of nowhere, and Steve had to swerve to avoid it, causing Loren to scream in terror, then Steve realized too late that in swerving, he'd headed straight towards another truck, that one a pickup truck. Steve struggled to get his car back under control, but in only a moment more, there was the sound of an enormous impact, as his car collided head-on with the back of the pickup truck, and both vehicles came to a sudden halt, one practically bent into the other. Loren shrieked again, and jumped into the back seat, landing in Jesse's lap. Steve sighed as he grabbed the dashboard with both hands, and rested his head on the steering wheel. It had been a horrible accident, and the evening was certainly ruined. Still, it looked like the worst was over. The only thing left to do was pay for the damages and...

Just then, however, one of the chains on the truck in front of him broke loose, causing the door in the back to swing around, slamming into Steve's windshield, and shattering the glass at it did so. Steve hurriedly jerked back in alarm, but it was too late. There was blood flowing freely from his hands, and at least a dozen large shards of glass were embedded deeply in each one. Having worked in medicine himself, Steve knew it wouldn't be long before he passed out from the loss of blood. The evening was definitely ruined.

* * *

January 1st, 2000; 1:48 AM

* * *

Steve had missed the dawn of the New Year. He'd also missed his friends, and the time they might have spent enjoying themselves at the casino, and he had no one to blame but himself. That was the worst part of it all; having to pin the blame for what had happened on his own actions and his own decisions. If that were the worst of what he'd had to suffer that night, it would have been bad enough, and it would have dampened his mood for days; perhaps even weeks. However, as he contemplated his situation, laying in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room with his eyes open, he realized that he couldn't feel his hands.

"Are you awake, Stephen?" Steve heard the voice of a man he recognized as Michael; an older surgeon who worked on staff at the same hospital he did.

"What happened?" Stephen asked, "Let's not waste time. Give me the bad news."

Michael paused for a few seconds before helping Stephen Strange to sit up. Then he said "Stephen, you were in out for several hours. Mostly it was shock, but... Your hands... I'm sorry, Stephen. We did all we could, but I'm afraid you'll never be able to use them again."

For a few moments, Stephen's eyes were wide open, as he took in the information; the dreadful turn that things had taken. He could never go back to surgery. He could never earn money as he had in the past, so easily and with such a flair, and that was when Stephen knew that he would do whatever it took; go to whatever doctor, professor or other medical expert he had to, in order to find a cure for his broken hands.

* * *

November 28th, 2001; 3:57 PM

* * *

Doctor Heusen sighed as he turned off the machines and opened the chamber door in which the operation had taken place. It was time for the bad news.

Of course, Heusen hated giving bad news to anyone, but especially to a man like Stephen Strange, who had already suffered so many grave disappointments.

"This is progress, Doctor." Stephen said as he approached, looking over his hands with a smile. For the first time in over a year, Stephen found that his hands could rotate freely at the wrists, and his fingers could twitch open and closed a little. He had almost no strength left in them, but it was one of the things he'd been looking for. He'd traveled halfway across the world, and allotted the last of his money to reaching that place, and undergoing a new kind of operation, but Heusen wasn't smiling.

"I know this isn't what you wanted." Heusen said hesitantly, but Strange replied with a smile again.

"That's alright. I have enough money for a few more treatments... Right?"

Heusen, however, just stared at the floor after only a few moments, and Strange knew from that look that he should expect the worst.

"I'm sorry." Heusen said, "Money is not the issue. You see, a great many of your muscles have already atrophied to the point where trying to reconnect them would only damage them further. If you'd come to me just after the accident... maybe I could have done more, but as things stand now, I..."

"But there has to be something more you can do!" Stephen exclaimed angrily, "Some new advancement! Someone else you can refer me too!"

"I'm not a magician, Doctor, I..." the great scientist started to say, before something else seemed to occur to him.

"Doctor." Heuson began, "You seem desperate to find a cure. How desperate are you?"

When Heusen asked that question, he'd led Stephen into his office and closed the door behind him, motioning for him to sit down in a chair. In only a moment more, Heusen had seated himself in another one.

"Let me tell you how desperate I am, doctor." Stephen said, starting to feel somewhat angry with the Chinese scientist, despite all he'd done to try to help him, "When I had working hands, I was a great surgeon, and I could do many amazing things with my hands that I later took for granted. I didn't just earn money with those hands, doctor, I earned hope. Every time I saved a man's life with those hands, it made me feel good about myself, and about the world for several days at a stretch, and that kind of hope is hard to get hold of, even if you have a fortune. I was a fool back then, doctor. When I first lost my hands, all I was worried about was how I wouldn't be able to earn money anymore, and what my friends would think of me as a pauper, but within a month, I came to realize that what had really given my life meaning was that hope that I earned through surgery and healing. Without it, all the money, all the activities, all the fun and all the friends rang hollow, and they were nothing but distractions. Let me tell you something doctor. My hands are my life. If I could find some means of using them again, I'd be a lot more careful with them. When I used my hands to help others, that was what really gave me a good feeling, not the people I was with or the fun I was having. If I could ever use them again, I'd never stop using them to help others until the day I died. I would pursue any possibility, any foolish dream, and any hope that could lead to my hands being restored. That, doctor, is how desperate I am, and now you know why."

Heusen said nothing for several seconds, though he closed his eyes and sighed near the end of Stephen's explanation. It was clear that the former surgeon's desire to earn hope by helping others was a pure enough reason for seeking the healing of his hands, and his determination was strong enough, that he would willingly take any risk for the restoration of his hands; of his hope.

"Alright, Doctor." Heusen said, "I know of no scientist who might accomplish the miracle that you desire, but there is another possibility."

Stephen's eyes opened a bit wider as he listened to the older man explain himself.

"I have no proof of anything I'm about to tell you, of course." Heusen said, "There is a strong possibility that none of this is true, and this would only be a... a wild goose chase, as you say, but not far from this city is a highway leading into the mountains. The highway goes for five miles, and then leads to a smaller road. Along that road for three miles is a rough path leading higher up into the mountains. That path is too rough and thin to drive a car along. It's only a path for walking. Walk along that path for six miles, and you'll come to a signpost. The signpost leads both north and west. Follow the path north from that signpost for a few more miles. I don't know quite how far it is past the signpost, but the journey must be made on foot. In time, if you have a keen eye and a quick stride, you may come to a temple in the mountains. According to legend, that temple is home to a being known only as 'the ancient one.'"

"Do you think that he has the power to heal my wounds?" Stephen asked, amazed at the story he was being told, but Heusen just looked crestfallen as he replied.

"I don't know what his capabilities are, but it's said that he has secret, long-lost powers that enable him to perform fantastic feats, and to protect millions of people from destruction. If any of that is true, he will be able to tell you for certain whether or not your hands can be healed. Now, if you're really ready to wander into the Himalayas for an indeterminable distance, quite likely getting lost, sore and hungry on your journey... If you're really ready to risk your very life, I can drive you as far as the start of the path."

"Maybe you didn't hear me." Stephen replied, his expression hardening, "Without hope, life becomes something that I would gladly give up."

* * *

November 29th, 2001; 2:46 AM

* * *

Stephen Strange had no idea how long he'd been walking for. It had certainly been many hours since he'd left Heusen's car with a short good-bye and some thanks for the hope that the scientist had given him, and his feet were uncomfortably sore. In fact, they felt roughly as though a hundred needles were being pushed into them from various directions. Nonetheless, the pain drove Stephen on further, to face the challenge of continuing. He'd followed the directions given to him by Heusen, and he'd passed the signpost several hours ago, taking the path in winding turns around and over the monstrous Himalayan Mountains. He was sure he'd crossed at least three mountains since the signpost, and it was pitch black in the sky, making it very hard to see where he was going, or indeed, to spot the temple if he ever arrived at it. However, his spirit and his will to press on towards the one hope he had left strengthened his patience to the point where he had continued on for hours and hours. He could never have given up for any reason but death, and at last, that strength was rewarded.

As Stephen turned a corner to the east, he saw a structure coming into view. It didn't look like much of a temple to him; no more than a small, wooden door built into the rock with a few pillars on either side, but there was no question that it was the place he was intended to visit, so Strange pressed on in its direction, soon opening the door and stepping inside, but not daring to relax his feet until he could be certain that he could find a chair, or someone willing to help him up afterward.

Stephen was amazed at the sight that met his eyes as he stepped into the temple. From the outside, it had looked so small, but inside, it was a massive chamber, full of stone pillars and marble floors, walls and ceilings. An array of various symbols considered to be holy by most of the legitimate religions of planet Earth were set up along the walls in recesses, as if intended to be venerated. Strange was surprised to see so many different symbols from so many different religions there. Of course, perhaps the entire setup merely meant that whoever inhabited the temple welcomed those subscribing to any religion.

Then, Strange looked to the far end of the main chamber and saw there an old man with a long, gray mustache and beard, seated on a carpet in the center of the room, with his legs crossed in meditation. He was dressed in long, blue, red and gold robes with symbols of some sort or another woven up and down them, and he was watching Strange intently as he entered.

Stephen had a feeling he was being rude somehow, so after a few more seconds, he walked up to the man and spoke to him.

"Sir. I apologize if you don't understand my language, but..."

"I understand your language, Stephen Strange." the man sitting before him said in a voice that, while most definitely old, also contained a level of good humor as well, "In fact, it is the least of the things about you that I am aware of."

"You know my name too." Stephen realized self-consciously. The old man, however, offered no reply to that, continuing to look directly at him, a trace of a smile forming on his face as he watched Stephen Strange's amazement.

"I came here looking for the ancient one." Stephen said.

"Well," the old man replied with an amused smirk, "it seems you have found him. I know what you want of me, Doctor Strange, but you may request it aloud anyway, if you wish."

By that point, Stephen was getting the distinct impression that most of their conversation was unnecessary. The old man seemed to have a surprising depth of knowledge about him. Still, he chose to make his request, as he'd been taught to make requests since he was young.

"Someone told me that you have knowledge and power that might be used to heal my hands. No science on Earth can accomplish that. If you can give me back the power to use my hands to help others, I would do anything in exchange."

"Anything?" the ancient one asked in surprise, "Perhaps you mean, rather, 'anything within reason,' but you are afraid to say that, for fear that I will not assist you. You care about morals, Stephen Strange. It is one of the qualities that make your presence here today essential."

Strange wasn't sure how to react to that, but soon, the ancient one waved one hand at the floor behind Stephen, and said "have a seat, and we can talk more of this."

That was when Stephen saw that another small rug had appeared on the floor behind him. It was soft and comfortable, although he wouldn't be able to get up on his own very easily after sitting there. Still, he suspected the ancient one knew that.

"I have great power, Stephen Strange." the ancient one explained as Stephen seated himself a little roughly, glad to be getting his weight off his feet, whatever else came of it, "I also have great knowledge. That knowledge tells me that you are an honorable man who will gladly fulfill any bargain you make to regain the use of your hands. Most of the time, when people come to me, I gauge their desires, and choose whether or not to grant them based on their merit. To people seeking simple healing, I often grant them that, freely and immediately, and I am tempted to do the same thing with you, but your presence here is of great importance, to me as well as to you. I will make a request of you in a moment, Stephen Strange, and it will be a difficult request, but you must hear me out. When I am done, you may refuse or accept my offer, but either way, I will give you the healing that you have requested."

Stephen could barely believe it. Just like that, the ancient one had promised him the healing he wanted, and he didn't even have to do anything he didn't want to, to receive it.

"Thank you, sir." Stephen replied, deciding to save his more substantial thanks for when he could warmly shake the man's hand once again, which in turn, sent delightful images of warm handshakes through his thoughts, all from the past long ago. It was thrilling and exciting, and yet, he needed to hear the ancient one out first, so he carefully determined to listen as the old man spoke.

"My power is hard-earned and strong in its degree." the ancient one explained, "Some in this world would call it magic, because of the strangeness of this power. It enables me to perform many fantastic, or even supernatural feats. It is also the source of my visions, which have not truly failed me in over three hundred years, and the source of my great longevity. Because of this power, which I worked for quite some time to acquire, I can make myself aware of certain things about anyone whom I recognize the name and face of. You, Stephen Strange, are one such person. My first awareness was of myself, and two events in my life stood out beyond all the others. One of them will not occur for many years yet, if at all, but the other was your arrival here before me today. That is how I knew that your presence here was significant to me, but it took me some time longer before I learned why."

"You see, Stephen," the ancient one started to explain, "I have been watching over this temple for over five hundred years, and even with my miraculous powers, my mind is becoming too old and tired to cope with the threats that will soon emerge into this realm."

"Threats?" Stephen asked, worry spreading across his face.

"There are many threats that exist in this world, and in other worlds, which threaten our very lives, and even our souls." the ancient one explained, "Monstrous beings from alternate planes that seek to devour whole the very light of mankind. It has been, for a very long time, my duty to circumvent those threats as the mightiest sorcerer in the world. It may be difficult for an educated man such as yourself to believe, but supernatural threats are just as real today as they have ever been, and it takes not merely great power, but a cunning wit to dissuade them. That is why I have been in search of students to carry on the role of Sorcerer Supreme in my place; students whose potential exceeds my own. Of those, I have discovered three with the power needed to succeed me."

As the ancient one spoke of the three students he'd discovered, images of two men appeared before him. One was an image of a man with long, black hair and a mustache. He was dressed largely in green robes, with his arms folded and a look of irritation on his face. The other man was covered in metal armor, which was, in turn, covered by a green cloak and hood. He seemed to wear a metal mask over his face, but in his eyes, Stephen could see a look of deep kindness and caring.

"These are two of the men I spoke of." the ancient one said with a frown, "The man on the left is Mordo. He is a great lord from northern China who studies magic as a means to an end. He came to me, upon hearing that I was Earth's mightiest sorcerer. He wishes to learn my secrets, and in doing so, to increase his own power, and take my place as Earth's Sorcerer Supreme. His innate talent for the mastery of magic is among the greatest that I have ever seen. It even exceeds my own. However, my experience is still far greater than his. At present, he still has much to learn."

"The other, however," the ancient one continued, "is a very different kind of person. Victor Von Doom is the other man who has become my apprentice, and although his innate talent for this study is not what Mordo's is, his brilliance, caution and diligence have allowed him to surpass Mordo in power. I have no doubt that in time, Doom will surpass even me. In some ways, I am tempted to feel comforted by that, because you see; I've never met a man who cared as much about his fellow man as Victor Von Doom does. It's that caring which motivates him to continue onward in his studies. In some places, to some kinds of people, he would be both the ideal student, and the perfect champion, because he is gifted, determined and compassionate. However, there is another that I have foreseen numerous times in my visions; one who might exceed even Doom in power, and who vastly exceeds Mordo in innate talent; a man with a magic within him so strong that I can see it sparkling every time I look into his eyes. I would wish to have this man agree to become my student, and to learn from me, for several years, what I have to teach, because I know that he is a man I can trust. This is my request to you, Stephen Strange. If I wish to train this young sorcerer of such vast talent and passion, I will need your help. Will you assist me?"

Strange thought about that for a few seconds in silence, looking at the rug he was sitting on before he said "If this man is really so important, I think I can help you find him, but the choice of whether or not to be your student will be his to make."

"Naturally," the ancient one replied with a mischievous grin, "and I won't ask you to make that choice yet, Stephen Strange. First, let me fulfill my end of our bargain."

As he said that, the ancient one waved both hands through the air just once, and suddenly, the feeling began to return to Stephen's hands. As he lifted his arms back up into his field of vision, he was stunned and delighted to see that his fingers were already operating in the right way. His thumbs were opposable again, and his fingers bent and twitched in all the old, familiar ways. There was no other word for it. It was a miracle.

"Oh, thank you, sir!" Stephen exclaimed, rushing to his feet and lunging forward to grab the old man by the hand in both of his own, and shake the ancient one's hand heartily, "You have no idea how long I've waited to shake someone's ha... someone's..."

Stephen Strange had neglected to finish his sentence, because the impact of what the ancient one had just said had begun to sink in. The person that the ancient one had been waiting for; the student of such unparalleled will and talent... was himself; Doctor Stephen Strange.

"You have waited one year, ten months, twenty-eight days, two hours, three minutes and thirty-two seconds, counting from the moment when you first learned that your hands were so badly injured." the ancient one recited snidely, but with no real irritation in his voice, "You would be surprised what I know, Doctor."

"You mean..." Stephen said, stunned by the ancient one's words, "I have this unnatural talent for the work that you've excelled in; a talent greater than yours?"

"Your innate advantage in pursuing the path of sorcerer supreme exceeds mine substantially; yes." the ancient one replied, "but that does not mean that it will be an easy path. It will take a great deal of work for many years to realize your full potential, and..."

"No." Stephen replied, "Forgive me, ancient one. I don't mean to make light of the marvelous gift you've given me today, but that's too much to ask of me. I mean, magic?"

"You're not trying to tell me you're religious, are you?" the ancient one asked, "Not that I couldn't explain my trade to a religious man, but the conduct I witnessed on the night of the accident was hardly what I would consider holy."

Stephen felt like the ancient one had just dropped a rock into his stomach, but he had to reply.

"You're right." he said, "I was foolish and flippant on that night, and that's what cost me the use of my hands. I'm aware of that. It's true that I haven't attended church for many years, but all the same, I can't just forget what I was taught as a child; that magic of all kinds are to be considered a black art."

"Those views are religious in nature." the ancient one replied, "I won't condemn you for having them, because I respect you for having strong views at all, but let me first explain to you where those views come from and why. Then, perhaps you'll think about my work a bit differently."

Stephen gave a short nod, backing away from the ancient one and seating himself on the rug again.

Immediately, visions began to unfold before Stephen of the entire planet Earth, the solar system and its planets. Stephen was amazed at the clarity and swiftness with which those visions were summoned forth. Soon, he saw in the visions an image of many vast beings; a white-bearded man wearing armor, a helmet and an eye patch, a brown-bearded man in robes and sandals with a bolt of lightning in one hand, sizzling as he held it, a ferocious-looking man with the head of a falcon, at least two men with light brown skin dressed in beautiful, extravagant clothes and headdresses, one of which was clothed almost entirely in gold, two more men wearing armor, one of whom was bearded, and the other was not... Some of those men carried weapons, while others did not, but Stephen Strange could see in awe that any one of them had the power to perform countless miracles on the Earth, and yet, there were other beings more powerful still. A creature closely resembling a bald man stood above them all, his shadows divided halfway between black and white, and in the blackness, there were stars. Then, beyond him were other beings. A beautiful woman clothed in pink, with precious pearls around her neck, and hair like a necklace and tiara, a hideous creature with skin like pitch, hair of navy blue and dark blue armor, who wore an expression of terrible malice, unlike anything Stephen had ever seen. Beside them were images of two faces, both bald and stern looking, one relatively human-like, while the other was bright purple, and the stars were reflected in its mouth and eyes, but there were greater beings still above them all. A woman in a long, black cloak stood ready to engulf them all at any second, and above her, keeping her in check, was a being that seemed to be made of the universe, which protruded out from its body in horns, and in folds of its long, dark cloak.

"That being guides the destiny of our universe at present." the ancient one said with a grin, "but there are still higher courts of appeals. Look a bit longer."

So, Strange looked, and saw unfolding before him another of the enormous, dark beings, and another, and another, until there were countless numbers of them, forming into yet another, larger being of a similar appearance, except without horns. Then, above him was a golden being, dressed in a bright purple hood, with three faces on its head, and the cascade of cosmic creatures began to fade, as Strange watched, shrinking despite their incalculable vastness, and becoming smaller and smaller, until they were only a speck in his vision, and that was when he realized that there was a larger presence surrounding them all; a presence made of pulsating orbs of power, which converged with each other in the place where the tiny speck of existence was.

"That is the All." the ancient one said, "It is the true creator of all reality. Outside of it, there is nothing. It is rare that the All will interact with humans directly, but it is a largely benevolent force, because it seeks to gain nothing from mankind's efforts. However, it seems to enjoy seeing people live in peace, which is the source of most major religions. Christianity, Buddism, Hinduism and so forth; all crafted to help people of different types learn to live in peace, without always seeking a means of overcoming one another; hence the forbidding of magic. It is much too easy to see magic as only a means of overcoming one's enemies, or of gaining an advantage in life. That is not the purpose of magic at all, and it should never be used for such petty things as finding food, or accumulating wealth, or indeed, for supporting any cause except the one for which it was designed; the preservation of the existence of our species."

Then, the vision faded, and the ancient one and his temple were again visible to Stephen, who was absolutely amazed at what he'd seen.

"There are many beings, in many other realities, who would like to see the human race forced into their service, and many of them have the power needed to accomplish that." the ancient one explained, "Less than six hundred years ago, such creatures were driven back by vampire hunters, who wielded holy powers against them, and before that, gifted paladins who had the guidance of the All in locating and ending evil, but in all cases when the powerful beings of our reality have helped to defend us from conquest, it has been a type of magic that has brought those changes about, whether it was called magic or not. My magic is the same. There are things I will not attempt, and lines I will not cross, because many types of magic are impossible to truly control, or to achieve any reliable power from, but as long as my magic remains under my control, I will continue to use it for the survival of man."

Stephen seemed stunned by what he'd just seen and heard, but he still wasn't convinced. The ancient one could tell that.

"If you knew, for certain, that everyone you knew was about to die, and there was only one way to save them, would it be wrong to follow that path?" the ancient one asked.

"I... I can't think of a reason it would be." Stephen replied, feeling more than a little doubtful of his position at last.

"Neither can I." the ancient one said, "Let me tell you something, Stephen Strange. I wasn't going to mention this before, but you have one of three possible destinies awaiting you. In two of those destinies, you wind up dying in less than six years, along with everyone else on planet Earth. That is the other pivotal vision I told you about. There is a strong chance that mankind will perish within your lifetime. However, in the other possibility, you have chosen to practice my art, striving for my mantle as Sorcerer Supreme. In that instance, there is a small chance that this plane of existence could still be saved, and mankind could be preserved from destruction. Well? Will you agree to become my student?"

For a moment, Stephen wasn't sure what to say to that. He was certainly being put in a very difficult and unfair position. He'd just been handed an ironclad ultimatum, which looked dangerously close to threat territory, where the only sure way out was to apprentice himself to the ancient one, but then something else occurred to him. How could he be sure that the ancient one was even trustworthy in anything he was saying or doing? Sure, he'd healed Stephen, and he'd said that he could refuse if he wanted to, but it might have just been a ploy to earn his trust. Then there was the possibility that the ancient one's visions were giving him false information, just for the purpose of ensnaring Stephen somehow. In any case, he wasn't about to let himself be tricked by a person who clearly had enough power already.

"What if your visions are wrong?" Stephen asked, voicing his suspicions, "What if what you've seen is a lie?"

"I trust my visions, Stephen." the ancient one replied, "I trust them, because, in the end, the really vivid ones always come true. Your arrival here this morning, for example, was a particularly vivid image in my visions, and like all the most vivid images, it came true, and the other vision was almost as vivid. Within six years time, wicked powers will be unleashed into this world, strong enough to destroy all life on planet Earth, and only you will have the chance to stop them. I'm as certain of that as I am that you are standing before me. Now, you don't have to believe what I've told you. You don't even have to accept my offer, but if you do not, you must know first that what is done to the world in six years time is partly your own doing. You have the chance now, to fight it in the way that even I cannot, but you can also choose not to, and allow the world to die before your very eyes. The choice is yours to make."

"There's one thing I don't get." Stephen said, already pretty sure what his reply would be, "You've said that both Mordo and Doom will exceed your power by the end of these six years you keep talking about. Why can't one of them stop this threat you mentioned?"

For a moment, the ancient one looked sad, but at last, he spoke up with a shameful feeling evident in his face and posture.

"I am not certain of that. Working together, it seems likely that the three of us could stop this threat, but for some reason, that will be impossible by the time it actually comes about. I'm not certain of why that is yet, which probably means that there are many possible reasons for it. There are other reasons that I have for seeking another student, but I fear that until you have met Mordo and Doom in person, my reasons would ring hollow compared with the desire to survive. For the moment, I can only ask you to please reconsider your decision, and agree to learn what I have to teach you."

Strange was silent for a few moments after that, mostly to try to convince the ancient one that he was indeed reconsidering, but the decision was never really in question.

"I can't do it." Stephen Strange replied, "I've had to live for almost two years with the knowledge that I had a power somewhere inside me that I couldn't use freely. I wouldn't put myself in that kind of situation willingly, no matter what. Even if you're right, and the world really is in terrible danger, it would be a hard burden to bear. I don't desire your power, ancient one."

The ancient one looked sad as he listened to Strange's words, but there was nothing he could have done to change the young man's mind. Even with all his magic, he didn't have the power to circumvent free will, nor would he have used it if he had. At last, the ancient one gave Stephen a short nod.

"In that case," he said, "you may leave at any time you wish to, but I would suggest that you at least stay for one night in this temple. I have an extra room, and the food is quite healthy. Once your feet are in as little pain as your hands, you may leave this place and return home."

"Thank you." Stephen replied with a short bow, "I appreciate all you've done for me."

The ancient one merely nodded, not saying a word against the decision that Stephen had made. What would have been the point?

* * *

The room that Stephen slept in during that night in the ancient one's temple was a simple affair with a basic mattress, sheet and a quilt. There was one pillow, but it wasn't very comfortable. Still, Stephen eventually found himself drifting off to sleep with a mechanical clock ticking away near the foot of his bed.

It was about six hours later when Stephen woke up and glanced at the clock again. It could hardly be said that his feet were feeling quite up to their best performance, but the fact that his hands were still working at their best made him realize just what a minor issue that was. He tried to get back to sleep for a few moments, but it was no good, and pretty soon, he heard a sound coming from right outside his door. It was the sound of two men talking. Quickly, Stephen bent over to listen at the door, and was just able to make out the words "...so sure of yourself, why must you keep making these attempts, night after night?"

The voice that had spoken those words was a gentle one, worried, but soft and easy on the ears, not at all like the next voice that he heard; which had a sharp edge to it, and sounded irritated and worried as its owner talked.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't be a barbarian, Mordo. You may be able to fool the ancient one, but a man like myself is above being fooled by such paltry lies, and your motives and actions are among the most transparent I've ever seen. Every day that I spend training here, I have to restrain myself from pummeling you three times at least, and frequently more often. You have no finesse at all, Mordo. Don't think I will hesitate to kill you if any of your attempts against the ancient one proves successful."

"The ancient one will die one day, Doom," Mordo replied harshly, "When he does, it will not be by my hand, or, I suspect, by yours. Some wicked creature from another plane will finally get lucky, and we'll both have to fend for ourselves. When that time comes, I should hope that he has decided which of us to pass on the knowledge and power of the Sorcerer Supreme to, because if not, this world will have no champion."

"Get out of my sight." Doom replied calmly, "The way you speak of the office of Sorcerer Supreme as just some kind of trophy or weapon; never daring to even think about the people who the ancient one protects, is more than I can bear. You care about no one but yourself, Mordo. You don't deserve the secrets of the ancient one, and I can't picture him accepting you as his successor for any reason."

"We shall see about that." Mordo replied. Then, in a moment, footsteps were heard, heading down the hall, and the sound of two doors closing at different points along the hallway echoed from outside. When he was sure that both students were gone, Stephen opened the door of his own room and stepped outside, into the hallway.

Stephen Strange could see at once which direction Mordo had traveled in, and from everything he'd heard, it sounded as if Mordo had designs on the ancient one's life. Hurrying down the hallway, Stephen opened the door that Mordo had passed through as quietly as he could, and discovered a chamber beyond, with a pool in the center. Mordo was there, on his knees before the pool, glaring into it as he muttered an incantation under his breath.

Carefully, Stephen crept into the room, hiding behind a pillar. From there, he could see into the pool, where an image had appeared, showing the ancient one lying in his bed. Then, the vision expanded, showing the rest of the bedroom, and five hideous-looking skeletons bearing swords and shields, approaching from all around. Stephen hurried forward, from behind the pillar at that moment to approach Mordo, who was watching the skeletons with a smile, but as soon as he'd gotten within kicking distance of Mordo, the student of sorcery muttered "Be gone, insect," and suddenly, Stephen Strange had reappeared in his own room, with bright, red bars laid out across the door. He tried to grab the bars; to pull them apart, or budge them in any way at all, but they held firm; indomitable and unbreakable. Stephen was definitely trapped, but more importantly, he felt helpless and miserable. There was no way he could help the ancient one anymore.

* * *

For almost an hour, Stephen sat in that room, on the bed or on the floor, wondering when and if anyone would find him, but at last, the bars started to fade away, and the door opened, revealing the ancient one beyond, still in perfect health, and still smiling.

"Which of my students did you annoy?" he asked with a smile as he entered, closing the door behind himself, and sitting on the bed next to Stephen.

"Mordo..." Stephen said for a moment, then continued, "I was so worried, sir. I thought you were going to wind up dead."

"From low-level magic of that class?" the ancient one asked with a proud grin, "If I were that easy to do away with, this Earth would long ago have become a conquest of some other reality."

"Low-level..." Stephen muttered, "He swatted me like a bug..."

"Count yourself fortunate." the ancient one replied, his smile diminishing, "Mordo is rarely that merciful. He could have killed you just as easily."

"But..." Stephen was deeply confused on a number of points, and more worried than ever, "Why would he be plotting against you, if he came here to learn from you?"

At that point, however, the ancient one sighed, looking deeply crestfallen, and when he spoke again, there was a grim look in his eyes.

"Neither of my current students came just to learn. They came to me because they desire my title and power as Sorcerer Supreme, and it's no idle title. As Sorcerer Supreme, they would inherit many artifacts of power that they cannot duplicate the effects of by any other means, including magic. In particular, Mordo covets the Eye of Agamotto, with which to see the truth behind all things. In his eyes, it represents colossal new power and nothing else, and though Doom has honorable intentions, I fear that he would use the Eye to further a misguided cause, rather than for its intended purpose."

"I don't get it." Stephen said after a few minutes, "If Mordo's such a monster, why keep him around?"

"You mean, why do I not send him away?" the ancient one asked, interested, "Stephen, there are times when it is best to keep an enemy closer than a friend. As long as Mordo remains here, unaware that I have stunted his training intentionally, he can do no harm with his magic to the people of the outside world. Besides, Mordo's actions up to this point could be misconstrued as testing my power to determine if I am still worthy to teach him. Those are the main reasons why I have not tried to send him away. There are places I could have banished him to, where he would be unable to harm others, of course, but in doing that too, there are obstacles, particularly now that you have refused to become my student. Neither Doom's power, nor my own will be sufficient to circumvent the coming threat. Whether Mordo will aid us or not remains to be seen, but he has the power to turn the tide against this dreadful evil, though my hopes of getting through to him are not good."

At that point, the ancient one stopped speaking, and Stephen was deep in thought for a moment.

"Sir, what's the purpose of magic?"

The ancient one smiled once more, as he answered that question, "The purpose of magic, and of all human life, is to defend the survival of the human race through any means short of enslaving the wills of mortal men. Magic was made, not to give one the power to conquer or rule, but to protect the billions who live on this Earth from threats that they cannot confront without it. In short, when there is no other way to save the people of Earth, magic is the way."

Stephen was silent for several seconds, staring at his hands, as he thought about everything he'd learned. Once again, the feelings of gratitude to the ancient one came back to him, followed shortly by the feelings of mistrust. There was little point in denying it. Stephen didn't trust the ancient one, despite all that the old man had done for him. Mistrust was an easy thing to find, and trust was very hard to come by, but whether he trusted the ancient one or not at that point made little difference to Stephen's next decision. The only real factor was that Stephen was certain that he didn't trust Mordo.

"How long will the training take?" Stephen asked, and the ancient one's eyes opened wide with a smile on his face as he heard those words. It was, for once, different from how he had foreseen things unfolding, but he answered the question honestly and quickly.

"Magic, like most arts, is a continual learning experience. Still, you should be able to keep learning from me for many years, after which independent study will benefit you most."

Stephen still wasn't thrilled by that thought, but the idea of leaving the ancient one at the mercy of Mordo thrilled him even less. He had the chance to make a difference, and he was going to take it.

* * *

"Good morning, my students." the ancient one said the following day as he led Stephen out to where Doom and Mordo were sitting in the main library, "There is a new student here today. He may not be very powerful, but I have agreed to take him on anyway. I believe his motives to be clear and just. This is Stephen Strange."

Mordo chuckled once under his breath, before resuming his training. Doom, however, seemed concerned. He got up from where he was seated on the floor and passed Stephen with a "Good morning, Mister Strange" that sounded friendly enough. However, Doom had soon pulled the ancient one aside, and Stephen couldn't hear either of them well enough to determine what they were talking about.

"Why is another student needed?" Doom asked quietly, "Have I made some mistake in my training?"

"I do not accept him on your behalf, but on his own." the ancient one replied, "Stephen Strange has shown some promise, and I foresee a coming catastrophe, in which three of us will be needed. Do you not think it would be better not to rely on Mordo?"

"Neither of us can afford to trust Mordo," Doom replied, "But..."

"Do you fear him, Doom?" the ancient one asked with a slight, derisive air, but Doom replied without even a hint of a jovial spirit at all.

"Should I?"

The ancient one's expression didn't change from an amused smile as Doom asked that serious question, which told him all he needed to know.

"Very well, then." Doom said, "But I will redouble my efforts all the same."

Then, Doom seated himself back on the floor again, and began his training once more without so much as another word. When he saw that, worry started to grow in the ancient one's heart.

"Where do I start?" Stephen asked, worried as he saw both Doom and Mordo glowing slightly in their meditation, "I don't have any experience with magic."

"True." the ancient one noted, "You will need basic training first, to familiarize you with the technique you'll need to perfect and refine. Come with me."

That was when the ancient one led Stephen Strange out of the library, and his training began.

* * *

"Find it... Yes. That is the magic force that exists in all humans, but which few can use for anything. Not all of the magic that you learn here will draw on this force, but you will need to master this force first, or you could die."

"The glow you emanate in meditation is slight, but it is there. This is because your magic is still weak. To make it stronger, you must use it, and for this reason I will teach you your first spell..."

"Open your mind and your magic force to the world around you. Use it to touch the fine textures of reality, and in doing so, discover new senses opening themselves to you..."

"That spell will tax your magic no longer. Let me teach you of the eldritch bolt..."

"Feel the difference between the physical and the ethereal, and use your magic to sort one from the other. Force out physical objects from the range around you. Can you keep this rock away from you?"

"We'll try again tomorrow."

In what felt like the blink of an eye, three years had passed, and Stephen Strange still felt that there was so much more he needed to improve on.

* * *

"This isn't good enough." Mordo realized angrily, as he sat in his room one day, "I might have surpassed Doom, but there's no way to be certain. Until I know, I can't challenge him. There must be some way to test his strength..."

That was when Mordo got an idea; a contest or a game. Of course, Doom would suspect something if it were just a contest between Mordo and himself, so instead, Mordo decided to propose that all three of the ancient one's students participate in the game. If nothing else, it would also let him know just how far behind Stephen still was.

Soon, the three students stood outside, a mile and a half from the temple. Stephen had been hesitant to go, at first, until Doom had told him that if any problems arose, he would personally defend Stephen's life. That had made him feel better.

"Our magic forces have grown strong in this place," Mordo explained, "and each of us can perform the magical eldritch bolt. I propose that we test our respective powers on the side of that mountain over there."

As Mordo said that, he pointed to a snowcapped peak, no more than a mile away, then continued, "This way, we'll better be able to keep track of our progress."

"Rather like measuring the height of a child growing into teenage years." Doom noted, "Alright. I don't see why not."

"I'll make the attempt first." Mordo said with a grin, "Then you, Doom. If Strange wishes to try after that, I suppose he can as well."

"Thank you." Stephen replied, trying not to feel too insulted.

In a moment, Mordo had extended one hand in the direction of the mountain, his thumb, forefinger and little finger extended in its direction, with his other two fingers bent inward. Then, take a deep breath, a blast of green power shot out from his hand, shining in all directions, in a sparkling display, like fireworks as it headed for the mountain, causing the ground to tremble when it hit its target. At last, when Mordo was done, there was a black crater in the mountain that could have been visible for miles.

"This is terrible." Doom muttered quietly enough that Mordo couldn't hear him, "His power is greater than ever now. I'm fairly certain I'm still his superior, but defeating him will take much effort."

"Huh?" Stephen asked, confused, "Really?"

Doom felt the question crawl up his spine like a winter chill. Stephen Strange knew more than he was letting on, or perhaps he knew less, which was just as worrying. Still, Doom approached as Mordo gave a short bow, stepping aside.

His turn having come, Doom took several deep breaths, and performed the same gesture as Mordo, unleashing a blast that was very similar to Mordo's, only a little larger. Like Mordo's, it sparkled like fireworks, and like Mordo's, it shook the ground when it hit the mountainside, creating a crater that was at last fifty percent larger than Mordo's. Stephen could hear Mordo cursing under his breath as Doom stepped back, to give him some room, but Stephen wasn't sure why. They must have been holding back, of course; both of them, or else there must have been a rule in the competition that he wasn't aware of, but Stephen Strange decided to just give it his best, and if he messed up or broke a rule, he could always start over.

Planting both feet on the ground, Stephen Strange took several deep breaths, and made the same gesture, but his blast looked very different from Mordo's or Doom's.

Instead of a green blast, shining outwards in a flurry of exploding sparks; Stephen's blast took on more of a violet hue, and looked almost cylindrical, as it shone from his hand. It was as if all the light and power of the blast were being kept within the boundaries of a very small area. No power at all was escaping from the sides. In short, when Stephen's blast came out, it shone inward, rather than outward, and where it hit, rather than an explosion, it started to draw things it, shaking the mountain range for miles, and creating a light that, while focused and contained, was still so bright, that Doom and Mordo had to cover their eyes.

At last, when the other two students dared to look again, they gasped in shock at what they saw. The entire top of the mountain had vanished.

"I... don't believe this!" Mordo exclaimed, "You can't possibly have such power!"

"Actually, my bolt wasn't much stronger than yours," Strange said, "but your bolt focused energy in outward attack, while mine contained and focused its energy to a single point, creating an implosion at the point of impact. Implosions aren't as messy as explosions, but they waste less power, and they do a lot more damage. I'm sure you must have realized that, right?"

"In... In science, that is true..." Doom muttered, "But I never thought that..."

Then he and Mordo both fell silent as Stephen realized the truth. Though he knew he still had much to improve on, he'd already surpassed them both in power and skill. In some ways, it was heartening, and in other ways, worrying. If both of them tried to kill him together, Stephen wasn't sure he could have defended himself, and there would be no way the ancient one could disguise his lessons to Stephen as "basic training" anymore.

Not sure what else to say, Stephen began the long trek back to the temple, the stunned Mordo and Doom following behind him.

* * *

"Now that your magic is sufficiently honed, you must learn of the three other types of magic. The power, which uses up no more magic than it generates, the incantation, which draws upon the power of another being with whom you have a bargain, and the enchantment, which exists in magical items. Enchantments can be made; sculpted with creative genius and cleverness, but for these six months, we will focus on the development of powers, then on the making of bargains for another year. Then, if there is time left, we can speak about enchantments..."

Time continued on, and Stephen continued to receive training from the ancient one, though it had to be done a bit more covertly than before, to throw Mordo off the scent. During that time, Stephen went on many journeys, and uncovered many new powers, but in the end, he still knew that it was work, and it was for mankind, because it was the only way to save the people he cared about.

* * *

February 13th, 2007; 2:38 PM

* * *

Mordo sat in his chamber, staring into the pool at the massive, red eye beyond. There were enchantments all around the room to prevent eavesdropping on what he was doing, and in that case, they were essential to his plans. If the ancient one found out, it would be too late.

"Then it's agreed." Mordo said to the creature at the other end of the pool, "Doom, Strange and the ancient one must all perish, and I will be made the new Sorceror Supreme of Earth."

"I will give you all of this and more." the creature replied, "Your universe is a large place. I am willing to cede the riches of such a small speck as Earth to you."

Grinning, Mordo said, "In that case, I undo, by the ethereal sword of Kalamit, the chains binding you to your prison. Come forth and give me that which I crave!"

However, as the forces surrounding Mordo channeled their way into the prison of the dark creature before him, the monster began to take shape; it's long, tentacle-like arms rising from the pool at Mordo's feet, flailing in eager joy over having been released, and smashing the columns and walls of the wizard's room.

Realizing too late that the creature would not do his bidding, Mordo teleported outside of the room quickly, and sealed the entire room, pushing it down into the pool of seeing again. Stone, masonry and metal collapsed in on itself, into the pool, creating a huge commotion and an even larger mess before Mordo was satisfied with his handiwork.

"That's what you get for trying to betray me, monster." Mordo muttered with a sneer.

"What, exactly, do I get?" came a voice from behind him. Swiftly, Mordo spun around, and there was the beast, its long, purple tentacles quivering as its single, hideous eye glared angrily at him.

"How?" Mordo asked in alarm.

"Come now." the creature replied with amusement, "Would you have summoned me if I was your inferior in sorcery? If you can teleport out of that room, I can teleport further and faster. The real question is, can you summon me back to my own dimension, or are you no threat to me at all?"

Mordo couldn't even speak. The creature was finally managing to fill him with something he'd only rarely felt; fear for his own wellbeing.

"No." the being said at last, "You are no threat to me. You can sever boundaries, but you cannot reseal them properly. You cannot even perform summoning rituals correctly. I will leave you alive for now. You cannot defeat me, but you may prove useful later."

Suddenly, Mordo heard a series of loud noises, as if an automatic gun was being fired at several times its natural speed, and he dove to the floor, to keep from being hit. In only a moment, a contained blast of power tore through the creature's body like butter, scattering it to pieces on the floor.

"You're a fool to summon such a thing, if you can't control it." Doom remarked to his fellow student, lowering his weapon, and shaping his hand back into a fist, "I should kill you next."

"You're the fool." Mordo muttered in terror, "Do you think it can be stopped that easily?"

"You're quite right about that." came a voice from all around them, as the tiny pieces of the monster quivered on the floor, turning into purple puddles that began to form back together, "In fact, I sort of enjoyed that. It's been a while since someone has tested the structure of my body, and I'm eager to do the same to him."

"We have to warn the ancient one." Doom muttered as the small puddles of the creature began to gather into one, "Neither of us has the skill needed to kill it."

"This creature cannot be killed." Mordo warned him, "Only entrapped, and when I tried to do that, it teleported behind me. If the ancient one knows some secret that might enable him to defeat it, he's never let on about it."

"If you plan on cowering in fear of this thing, you can do it silently!" Doom barked, "I will take action!"

Then, Doom was off down the hall, towards the chamber of the ancient one, and after only a moment, as tentacles began to emerge once again from the puddle on the floor, Mordo followed.

* * *

"Sir!" Doom exclaimed, but the ancient one had clearly felt the danger already. He was pinning a long, red cloak around himself, with a gold amulet, and he was also wearing a belt that Doom had never seen before, which bore a number of small, green orbs along it.

"I know what we face." the ancient one said, "If there is time later, I will explain it, but at the moment, our physical vulnerability makes this temple a horrible place to fight it. We must get out into the open, in a place where it cannot bring the ceiling down on top of us."

"Where is Strange?" Doom asked, worry gripping his heart, "He might be helpful."

"Strange has already left this temple." the ancient one replied, "Hurry!"

Soon, all four of them were outside, and the ancient one held out one hand in the direction of the entrance, unleashing a low-level eldritch blast that caused the entrance to collapse.

"That will buy us no more than a moment." the ancient one said, "This creature possesses most of the same spells and abilities that I have been trying to teach you to use, as well as immortality, and its strength is far greater than ours. It was called Shuma-Gorath in the ancient texts. No weapon made by man can defeat it in battle, but if you can give me a diversion, I might be able to seal it up again."

Doom nodded. Strange wasn't sure what kind of diversion to give the ancient one, but Mordo just trembled. It was hopeless. He'd called it forth to destroy all three of them, and that was just what it would do...

In only a moment, the creature passed through the rocks at the entrance like a phantom, and reached out towards Doom with its tentacles. The ancient one had flown up into the air, and seemed to be hidden from the creature's gaze for the moment as Stephen backed away, looking for vulnerabilities in his opponent. There were distressingly few. Every point he looked at, there seemed to be an arm to retaliate with. In fact, Stephen wasn't sure what the ancient one could even be planning to do.

As Stephen backed away, Doom started firing with his magic bolts at the creature, but the monster was ducking back and forth out of the way of them, not to avoid the damage, but seemingly just to keep from wasting time. At last, its tentacles grabbed Doom by the arms and flung him over its head into the mountainside. The impact didn't damage Doom's armor much, but when the creature fixed its eye on Mordo, the wicked sorcerer could see a message in that gaze.

"You know better by now."

At once, Mordo turned and fled down the mountainside, and Shuma-Gorath felt quite validated, even as Doom's weapons put several holes in it from behind, that rapidly began sealing themselves.

"I suppose you think I can't do the very same thing." Shuma-Gorath said, then suddenly, a blast of power erupted from its eye, and Doom had to fly upwards into the air, on what looked like jets built into his armor to escape it, as the blast tore through the mountainside, sucking in matter from all around it. Stephen recognized the blast at once as being much like his own, but more powerful. Aside from its immortality, the creature was definitely a grave danger to all of mankind.

The ancient one felt like cursing as Doom flew overhead. If Shuma-Gorath had discovered that Doom had the power of flight, it might start using higher-level magic, which would only make things worse. He had to finish his spell quickly.

"You have impressive powers, for a mortal," Shuma-Gorath said to Doom, "but you will not escape me."

Suddenly, circles began to form around Shuma-Gorath in the rock, and small, black shapes bearing some resemblance to small people with wings like bats, and glowing eyes emerged from those holes to strike at Doom in mid-air. Doom had a hard fight on his hands as he fired at the creatures. They, at least, were not immortal, but their strength was formidable, and in most cases, they took more than one shot to kill. The worst part was that there seemed to be no end to them, until both of the ancient one's remaining students saw a glowing light emerging from the rocks atop the temple, where the ancient one was.

"I summon Shuma-Gorath to this circle of imprisonment!" the ancient one exclaimed, outlining a circle with his fingers on the ground, "Let him be bound to this place by bands from without!"

However, just as the ancient one began his incantation, Shuma-Gorath seemed to flatten itself out against the ground, spreading out its tentacles as far as it could in all directions. In a moment, the ancient one's spell seemed to have summoned it up to the top of the plateau, just as Doom finished shrugging off the attacking daemons, but although the circle in the ground glowed with the power to keep Shuma-Gorath imprisoned, its tentacles, spread out, were still outside that circle, and after only a second, they'd lashed out against the ancient one, knocking him backwards against a boulder.

"Sir!" Doom exclaimed, but it was too late. There was blood on the rock, and the ancient one's consciousness was starting to slip away as he felt his life beginning to fade. He wouldn't get another chance to seal the monster, and his imprisonment circle was already fading, freeing the creature again.

"I'm sick of this." Shuma-Gorath said angrily, starting to raise its tentacles above its head one last time, "By the power of my origins and by my immortality, I grant this Earth a quick death, that it should no longer torment me with the limitations of its life-forms."

However, as an orb of bright, shining light started to form around the ends of the monster's tentacles, ready to plunge downward, and unleash death upon everyone on Earth, Stephen Strange's thoughts were racing over the facts he'd gathered about the ancient one. He'd failed, but only because the circle he'd made had been so small. Surely, he must have known that it wouldn't have been large enough to trap their enemy. It had been a desperate gamble to make, unless... Unless maybe, the ancient one couldn't make the circle any bigger. Maybe he lacked the power. As Doom had fought the daemons, Stephen Strange had watched the ancient one's spell, and he knew, then and there, that he had to stop doubting himself.

"Now, flying or land bound, all of you mortals will die!" Shuma-Gorath exclaimed, raising the orb over its head, however, that was when it had to dissipate the orb as it heard familiar words from across the mountain range.

"I summon Shuma-Gorath to this circle of imprisonment! Let him be bound to this place by bands from without!"

At once, the monster flattened itself against the ground again, but when it was teleported into the circle, it found, to its horror, that it couldn't move at all. The circle was five times as large as the one the ancient one had made, and it was keeping it imprisoned and helpless. Shuma-Gorath's fury grew by leaps and bounds as what had once been a threat to all life on Earth had suddenly found itself on the losing side.

"Let... let this creature of evil be bound forevermore to its native reality by the power of the bands of imprisonment surrounding our universe." the ancient one muttered with all the strength he had left, "Let Earth be rid of it for all time."

"Noooo!" Shuma-Gorath shouted in fury and despair, as once again, the walls of its home reality closed up around it, sealing over, as it passed through. There was no going back as it faded from the sight of Doctor Strange, and everyone else.

In only a moment, Stephen Strange was by the ancient one's side, holding one of his hands as Doom held the other.

"I fear... no magic of mine can undo this wound." the ancient one said, "Shuma-Gorath's touch is a poison that cannot be cured; not even by magic."

"But sir..." Stephen said, his throat about ready to give out from sorrow, "You can't die... There's still so much you could teach us..."

The ancient one, however, chuckled upon hearing that.

"No." he said, "Today, I showed you my most advanced sealing spell only once, and you outdid me a dozen times over. To you at least, I can teach nothing more, but clear away the rubble around the temple, and retrieve my grimoires. They contain many spells for you to master at a future time."

"Both of you fought bravely today," the ancient one continued, "but I am sorry Victor. I cannot give to you the power you seek. Continue to train, and you may still be a great wizard, but the title of Sorcerer Supreme belongs to another."

"Yes." Victor replied, with sadness, but resignation in his voice, "I know."

"Take the cape of levitation from my back, Stephen Strange," the ancient one said, "and take the sacred Eye of Agamotto that holds it in place as well. It will show you the truth when nothing else can. Take also the Orb of Agamotto from my belt. It will grant you visions similar to my own. This is all I can do for you anymore, Sorcerer Supreme of Earth..."

Then the ancient one's indomitable will faded, and his soul drifted beyond the range of Stephen's ability to detect it.

* * *

February 20th, 2007; 5:12 PM

* * *

"So you're leaving." Stephen noted, as Doom lifted his luggage easily in his gauntlets.

"Yes." Doom replied, "I am still needed by my people in Latveria, and by the people of the world. I do not consider my time here to have been a waste, but I mustn't linger any longer. Any further studying of the mystical arts can be done in my own land."

"I'm glad you stayed long enough to help me bury him." Strange said. Doom paused for a moment, but didn't reply.

"What if Mordo shows up again?" Stephen asked.

"If I ever lay eyes on him again, he's a dead man." Doom replied angrily, "People who are not content to improve themselves by their own merit sicken me. In that, at least, I have acquired some respect for you, Stephen Strange."

Stephen smiled as he said, "Then you bear me no malice over what happened."

However, as soon as Stephen made that observation, he could tell that he'd been wrong. Doom turned to face him only a moment later, with a look of anger in his eyes.

"No." he said, "I wouldn't say that. I respect your dedication to improving in your pursuits, Stephen Strange, and I envy your genius in mastery of mystic forces, but make no mistake; I am not happy with the way things went. Though you have saved everyone on this Earth, a part of me still wishes that I could have been in your place, and received the title you seem to have adapted so well to. I fear that jealousy would make it difficult for us to ever meet again."

"Is it really so important to be the best at everything, Doom?" Stephen asked. Doom, however, didn't reply to the question. Instead, he asked one of his own.

"I take it that you don't plan to stay in this temple."

"I'll be moving back home to New York pretty soon." Stephen replied, "Once I've taken all the enchanted items and spell books from here and moved them into my new home, I'll seal the temple up. Operating in a remote location like this one would just make my job harder. If there's a threat, I'd rather be able to hear about it on the news."

"Then for what it's worth, good luck." Doom replied as he headed out the door towards a flying craft that had parked itself outside, at his silent command, "If we ever meet again, I hope that you will understand my reasons a bit better."

Then, Doom was gone, and Stephen Strange; the new Sorcerer Supreme, had a lot of work to do.

* * *

End


	9. Issue 9: Sympathy for the Devil

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 9

"Sympathy for the Devil"

* * *

How many times are young boys and girls told that life in this world is unfair? It's true, of course, but the phrase has become such an easy, casual explanation for all that's wrong with the world, tossed so simply into the air at a moment's notice, and when it reaches the ears of children, it still carries those overtones.

For that reason, in the mind of a child, the words "life isn't fair" frequently come across as "suck it up, kid."

But people are who they are. They have their own problems and they think about their own, personal dilemmas, and there are certainly a lot of those. When it comes time to think about the problems of children, who are still too young, or otherwise unable to defend themselves, people tend to be negligent, but they're not too hesitant to impose restrictions on a child's conduct.

Matt Murdock had never seen his father as a supportive figure in his life; not once. Jack Murdock was an oppressive influence; one among many.

In elementary school, there's no shortage of oppressive influences over the life of a young boy; especially a scrawny, studious young boy. In some ways, Matt Murdock's father Jack had pushed him into his studies, but he probably would have wound up retreating there anyway, because at that age, teachers, bullies and even ordinary students can all seem cruel and oppressive, even when they're not trying to be.

Even as a very small boy, Matt Murdock had had a clear, intelligent view of the world around him. He'd seen the things that went on in his life, and in the lives of others, and he'd approached them with a simple logic, which is the basis of all rational thought. Whenever he had money problems, he looked for ways to spend less. Whenever he didn't understand a subject or topic, he'd look for a book about it in his local library, and whenever he was faced with a fight or a dispute over something being stolen or someone being hurt, he always looked to find out who was at fault for it. Some might have seen his approach as a very wise one, if he'd only been about a dozen years older.

Perhaps that says something about the prejudice inherent to our own society, that Matt Murdock wasn't taken seriously, solely because of his age. He was ten years old, and he'd already developed most of the skills that he would later use in his chosen profession.

In society, such people become lawyers, doctors, politicians and corporate executives when they're older men, but there was another reason that Matt couldn't reach his full potential as a man. Since he was very young, his father Jack; a professional boxer had trained his son, above all else, to never fight anyone. That had had the unfortunate effect of turning Matt into something of a wimp, and in addition to his other obvious labels as a geek, a bookworm and a straight-A student, it made him an easy target to pick on.

In school, there are those who have very little in the way of self esteem. For one reason or another, they've decided that they're worthless, or else they feel like have no dignity to take pride in. Those people who don't believe in their own dignity become a danger to all those around them, because the only way a person with no dignity can survive is by tearing others down...

* * *

Matt Murdock felt the impact of Henry's fist colliding with his left cheek as the books slid from his hands to fall in the mud, and he, in turn, collapsed to the ground. It wasn't the first time it had happened, and every time Henry decided he needed someone to pick on, it only got worse and worse. Matt was the easiest to pick on by far, because he never tried to hit back. He seemed furious and sad, and he looked like he was the most miserable creature in the world, but he never tried to fight. The words of his father echoed in his head whenever he thought of fighting the bullies.

"Don't ever fight, Matt, or else you'll wind up forgetting about everything else, like I did. I don't want you to be a knucklehead like me. Make me proud."

Those were the words that cycled through Matt's head as he lay in the mud that day, making no move to defend himself, just as he'd been taught, feeling Henry's kicks grow fiercer and fiercer, as they drove into his midsection, while Matt simply lay there... Anyone who says that kids should "keep their cool and not get mad or fight back" in the face of the attacks of other school kids should be struck hard across the face, and Matthew Murdock was the reason why.

"Make me proud." the words spin through the haze of red and black that filled Matt's vision.

"Yeah, dad..." Matt thought back through the pain, "I hope you're real proud."

* * *

Matt didn't get home from school for hours after he'd left, and to anyone who truly knew him, the reason would have been obvious, but, Matt decided as he approached the dinner table, hoping his all-too-apparent bruises wouldn't draw much attention, Jack was a man who never saw the person that Matt was; only the person he wanted him to be.

"Hey." Matt Murdock said as he grabbed a few paper towels and started scraping the dried mud from the pages of his books. They'd never look the same again, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Hey, Matt." Jack said from behind a section of the newspaper that looked something like the want ads. The apartment that Matt shared with his father wasn't a very big one, and it wasn't very expensive. It was the best they could do to survive. Even so, there were times when they'd needed to shut off the heat to save money, or avoid using the lights, which had made it necessary for Matt to do his reading in the park sometimes, which wasn't more than a few blocks from his home. Everything about Matt's life was unfair and constraining in some ways.

"Any new jobs?" Matt asked.

"Nothing this week." Jack replied, with a feeling of true despair in his voice, "We'll have to stretch that last check a little further than I thought."

Matt wasn't too surprised. It was the typical pattern of his father's life. He was one of the best fighters in the city, but nobody was interested in great fighters anymore. He was lucky to get one good boxing opportunity in a five week period. More often, it was closer to two months in between fights, and the money he got from the fight, when he won, was just enough to pay the bills for that precise amount of time. He never had more than five thousand dollars in the bank at any give moment.

Pretty soon, Matt had finished washing the mud off his body, washed his scrapes and cuts, dug an apple out of the fridge, and had started eating, as he tried to make out the words in his mud-stained textbook. After struggling with it for about a minute and a half, however, he gave up and dropped the book on the apartment's hardwood floor with a clap that filled the room, drawing Jack's attention at once.

"This blows." Matt complained, "Life doesn't get worse that this."

Jack didn't know what to say. He'd used the "discontent fuels progress" speech almost to the point where it echoed through the very walls of the apartment. Why even bother mentioning it again?

"I'm going for a walk." Matt said, getting up and heading for the door. On another day, Jack might have warned him not to get into trouble, but that was when he saw the bruises all over Matt's face and arms, and the sight shut him up, as Jack Murdock realized one of the pragmatic facts of life. People become the product of the world in which they live, no matter what one person in their life tells them. Several seconds after Matt had left, Jack threw his newspaper at the wall, and put his face in his hands.

* * *

Though he'd been warned not to on many occasions, Matt Murdock was frequently consumed by the desire to pound something. He was, of course, a logical enough boy to realize that trying to pound innocent people was the very source of much of his own suffering, as well as the fact that it would probably just get him even more hurt, so instead, when he was so furious, that he started to crave destruction, he used his feet to pound the pavement, and took off from his father's apartment at a sprint.

Matt was weak and scrawny in most things, but in sprinting, he was actually pretty good. Each of his feet struck the pavement hard at least once every second as he took off, dashing madly through the streets, ducking in between crowds of people and weaving out of the way of shoppers and cars, but never, ever, ever slowing down. To him, the idea of anyone just going out and shopping was a meaningless one, and being able to depend on a car was another meaningless thought. Because there was so much of the world that Matt Murdock had never experienced, due to his crushing poverty, he found he had no sympathy for any of the people he met on the street. Therefore, they were hurtles to him, not people.

Matt continued to run for blocks and blocks. First, he ran the three blocks from his dad's apartment to the park, then another five blocks west to the pool hall, then he headed back into the city as fast as he could go, dodging and ducking as he went, until, unexpectedly, he saw something that, in spite of all the personal pain he was in, made him feel pity for someone else.

It was a busy section of the city. A thousand times a day, cars would pass by, and leave no lasting impact on the populace. However, once in a while, one careless driver in a hurry to get on with his errand, and one careless pedestrian would meet, and as Matt barreled toward the next intersection, he had a split second to notice that both had converged right in front of him. There was an old man with a thick, gray beard crossing the street in front of him, not noticing the pickup truck that was headed in his direction at a very illegal speed. Matt only had a split second to think about his next course of action as he continued his mad charge forward, right into the oblivious man in the middle of the road, knocking him to the sidewalk on the other side, just a split second before the pickup truck charged by.

However, the man that Matt had knocked to the ground had been carrying a bag full of old cans, probably intending to recycle them. When Matt had knocked him to the far side of the street, the bag of cans had flown into the air, and eventually landed on the windshield of the pickup truck, before bouncing harmlessly into another pile of trash along one side of the road. In that instant, when the bag had obscured the vision of the truck's driver, he'd swerved back and forth on instinct, jostling his cargo in the back, which amounted to three large, metal barrels, one of which had a loose top.

All three barrels had remained more or less closed as the truck had swerved, but from the loose section of the barrel had sprayed a short stream of some strange chemical, which, as rotten luck would have it, was exactly at Matt's eye level. Before losing consciousness, Matt Murdock heard swift footsteps running up to him, and saw the blue of the sky above, tainted by the shade of the green chemical.

Those were the last of the colors that Matt Murdock would ever see.

* * *

Blind. Matt was blind, and he would be for the rest of his life.

It made Matt feel truly miserable to think that he'd never see again, and what made that feeling even worse was the thought that the injury had been suffered while trying to save a bum, who was probably going to starve to death anyway, and didn't seem to have shown him any gratitude over what he'd done. According to what he'd heard from the doctors, Matt's savior had been another man, who'd rushed forward only a moment after the accident, and demanded that someone nearby use their cell phone to call an ambulance. He had, apparently, been dark-haired and balding, carrying a long walking stick, and he'd agreed to pay for Matt's hospital visit, no matter how long it took, or how much it cost, which was quite a feat, considering the extent of medical expenses in more recent years. Jack would never have been able to afford it.

For almost three days, Matt lay in bed while the doctors ran tests and examinations, which eventually revealed that far from Matt's eyes being damaged, the parts of his brain that normally processed optical input had been burned out completely, and appeared to have become completely useless. The entire time that he was in that bed, Matt's mood changed like a storm front. For his first three hours awake, he was at the point of panic. He spent another six hours being furious with the world, then a day and a half consumed by self pity to the point of being unable to recognize other people. However, on his last day in the hospital, Matt began regaining some measure of his previous perspective, and discovered that regardless of the cost, at least two things had come of his accident that were positive. The first was the careful; almost royal treatment he got in the hospital. People did all sorts of things for him there. The second was that even when there were no doctors or nurses around to wait on him, Jack was there. His father's constant struggle for new gigs had finally been shoved to one side for the first time since Matt could remember, and he was there to help his blind son, and to do things for him when he was helpless and alone. Matt had never seen the love of his father before as anything other than an obstruction, and the experience gave him a lot to think about.

It was the first time, that Matt could remember, that Jack had read to him, or really given him his undivided attention. It was almost enough to make up for his sight entirely, but not quite.

Of course, there were guaranteed to be far more challenges ahead for Matt as he tried to adjust to life without sight, but at least the cloud had its own little silver lining.

* * *

Matt was out of school for almost a month after the accident, trying to get used to moving around without being able to see where he was going. It was during that time that, for the first time in his life, Matt began to see his father's love and cleverness for the first time. Jack Murdock wasn't book smart, but he could be surprisingly crafty at times, and he knew that Matt needed to get used to using his other senses in place of sight, so he'd decided to kill two birds with one stone. Every evening, Jack would spent one hour contacting people over the phone, looking for work, and if he couldn't find it, he'd wait until the following night, rather than obsessing over it as he had before, or persisting in a hopeless search. The rest of his time, he spent reading to his son while moving around the room, encouraging Matt to follow the sound of his voice, or keep track of where he was going by how many steps he'd gone already, and in what directions. How many inches, how many feet... It was the best training that Jack could have given to Matt for both his senses and his mind. However, it succeeded in a somewhat different way than Jack had originally intended.

While Jack had meant for Matt to keep track of where he was going by feel or memorization through their training together, Matt had instead made a discovery of his own that astonished him beyond words. He found that he could hear a great deal better than he had before. It wasn't just that Matt could hear faint sounds more loudly, or that the volume of the sounds surrounding him had been increased. Every time even a faint sound was made by anything or anyone nearby, Matt heard not only the sound, but echoes of the sound, traveling around him, around the shape of his body, around his father, around the furniture to the edges of the room and back again, until the vibrations of the sound faded completely. It wasn't like a radar sense per se, but like the sonic detection methods that dolphins used to sense things underwater. After practicing with it for only a few days, Matt found that just by tapping one shoe on the floor, he could get a sense of the shape of an entire room, and all the people and things it contained. It wasn't quite like being able to see, of course. There was no color, but it was a unique and beautiful thing nonetheless, and it was, for Matt, a saving grace.

Over the course of that month, Matt had discovered a number of other things too; special senses that the accident seemed to have given him, in exchange for robbing him of his sight. He could touch a table and feel the tiny grooves of the wood, or a page and feel where the ink had been applied to it, meaning that with practice, he could read again. He could smell the distinctive differences in perfumes, foods, and even people in a way that, he supposed, a bloodhound must be able to, and whenever he put something in his mouth, he could sense the distinctive style, and subtle flavor within it. Where once, colors and shapes had alerted him to the presence of his problems and his sufferings, he suddenly found a rich, vibrant number of sounds, pulses and smells accompanied every person, a delightful amalgam of scents, flavors and invisible shapes formed around every meal he was fortunate enough to enjoy. The experience of going for a sprint in the city streets became a wonderful rush of shapes and sounds, outlining better than ever the images and shapes of those around him, highlighted by the diverse, if sometimes unpleasant smells of the city streets, the strong warmth of the setting sun, and the feeling of his own adrenaline as he moved on and on. Matt could feel the warmth within his own body rising as he ran, sense the heat increasing in the faces of those who were chagrined by his speed, and his seeming carelessness... It was unlike any experience he'd ever been through. There were times when Matt still wished that he could see colors, of course, but in every other respect, he'd lost nothing of any great value. He was on top of the world.

Of course, Matt would still inevitably have to face the pain of going back to school, and dealing with bullies again. With his new senses, he suspected that that pain would carry its own uniqueness, and a sort of variety all its own. However, Matt had arrived at a very important decision. He wasn't going to hit anyone, but he wasn't going to just take their attacks lying down anymore either.

* * *

On the next day of school, Matt had to admit that he made greater use of his new senses that he probably should have, or at least, used them more openly than was wise. He kept his eyes shut for pretty much the entire day, yet he "read" the assignment with his fingertips in front of all the other students, and the teacher, and then wrote the answers quickly with one hand, while feeling out the lines with the other. When he felt his work over one last time before turning it in, he was sure that it was as well-written as any assignment he'd ever finished. More than one student noticed what Matt had done with amazement, and perhaps even a little jealousy. Matt spent the entire rest of class reading with his fingers, doing pretty well at distracting the other students from their own tests, and widening the gap in the average grade curve of his classroom.

By the end of the day, Matt was still feeling pretty good about himself, even as he heard the sound of Henry's footsteps outlining his own shape, right down to the expression on his face. Despite the fact that Henry was a larger, stronger boy, Matt felt sorry for him then. They were right in front of the street outside the school, where cars passed by almost every thirty seconds, and in the echoes sent through the area by the wheels of those cars, scraping along the pavement, Matt could have detected every twitch of Henry's muscles, even with his back turned to the larger boy. It made Matt smile to have such an advantage at last.

"You think you're really something, don't you wimp?" Henry asked, "Maybe you need a refresher on who's really the special one around here!"

Henry had lunged forward, but his speed was somewhat lacking. Matt felt him coming the moment he made his move, and ducked away from the older boy's fist, then raised his left hand to block a second attack. Next, Henry had tried to kick Matt, and Matt had backed out of the way, and then responded to more attacks as they came by ducking, blocking, and jumping backwards, much to the chagrin of Henry, as he kept his eyes closed the whole time. Henry had never seen anybody react to him so quickly, much less some skinny kid who claimed he was blind.

At last, Henry's ineffectual attacks began to run out of steam, and he got truly exhausted, gasping and panting as Matt stood before him, still smiling, and still without a single bruise on him, for once. Henry felt furious and helpless at the sight of that boy, who he'd once picked on so easily, standing impervious, like a mountain... but what could he do about it?

Eventually, Matt turned and left, and Henry couldn't follow. He was actually a little afraid.

Matt, though, was feeling great. It was the first time he'd gotten the chance to really react to a bully in a way that didn't seem to make things worse, and as he headed through the gate to the location of the school buses, he heard the voice of an adult from behind him.

"That wasn't bad, considering..."

Somehow, Matt hadn't noticed the man until just a second before, which he found extremely strange. For a person to hide in a corner was easy, but escaping detection by Matt's sonic sense was something he'd thought was impossible. Whoever that man was, he wasn't normal.

The man was reasonably short, had enough wrinkles on his face, that he was probably in his forties or fifties, and dressed in a thin jacket over a plain shirt, pants and sneakers. He had a long, thin pole in one hand.

"How'd you do that?" Matt asked, amazed.

"It's a kick in the teeth, ain't it?" the man asked with a mischievous grin, "I can do all kindsa stuff. For instance, I can save your butt when you almost get run over."

Matt didn't need to ask any questions about that. That comment was enough. He knew that the man who was standing before him was the one who'd paid his hospital bills.

"Thanks." Matt said, "You probably saved my life. I really owe you."

"No kiddin'." the man with the stick replied, but he said it with a grin on his face, that didn't seem the least bit unkind, "There's something I wanted to talk to you about, Matt."

Matt didn't feel too surprised that the man knew his name, or was willing to use it, but he still hesitated for a moment before replying to that person, who was essentially a stranger.

"Like what?"

"You came outta that accident with something special, Matt." the man said, "I can see it when I look at you. You can't see anymore, but you've got the gift. You're that one blind guy in a thousand who can feel the grain in a hair, smell human scents for miles, and even see with your ears. Lots of folks have to work for years to do that, and I'll bet it means something..."

"You mean my senses..." Matt realized in awe, "...the sonar."

"Yeah." the man replied, "Nobody ever makes it far in ninjitsu without senses like yours, but you got 'em just like that, all at once. I'll bet you could be the greatest shinobi of 'em all, if you really wanted to."

"Shinobi?" Matt asked, curiously, "What's that?"

"Well, most people just call 'em ninjas." the man replied, "They walk in the shadows, make 'emselves invisible, run for miles and never get tired. Ain't you ever done some 'o that?"

Matt opened his mouth to deny it, but it was true that although he'd never turned invisible or stepped into a shadow, he did do a lot of sprinting every so often, and it didn't really tire him out all that badly. Matt had closed his mouth in only a moment more without saying a word.

"Thought so." Stick replied, "You've had the gift of a ninja for a while now, you just haven't been using it. Why'd you let that kid pick on you for so long, anyways?"

"I... I didn't really... I didn't want to fight." Matt stuttered.

"Guys like him need to see that they can't just get away with doing whatever they want to people." the man replied, some anger showing in his voice, "Are you trying to tell me you really didn't want to knock that guy on his backside?"

Again, Matt opened his mouth and closed it again just as quickly. How could he let such a lie escape his lips? He'd hesitated to fight in his own defense, not because he'd been afraid of losing, or didn't want to, but because...

"Your pop told you not to." the man said, seeming almost to read Matt's mind, "What a pain. That guy ought to have kept his big trap shut."

"He really loves me, you know." Matt said, turning away, "For a while, I couldn't see it, but..."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." the man replied, "He's a nice guy, but he doesn't really know who you are. Doesn't care, either. He just wants you to be some rich doctor type and forget about fighting, but there's things in this life that deserve to be fought for; people who deserve to be protected. That's why people like us exist, you know. We're here 'cause we can fight and they can't. They need us. They need us bad."

"I... can't fight." Matt muttered.

"Sure you can." the man replied, "You've got the gift. Are you just telling me you're afraid your pop'll find out, or can you really look at me and tell me that this ain't everything you've always wanted; fighting for a real cause?"

The man had him pegged yet again, for the third time in as many minutes. There was no part of Matt Murdock that wanted anything but to go out into the world and right wrongs with his own two fists. He wanted to fight, and he always had.

"I've been such a coward." Matt realized aloud, looking ashamed, "I was so scared of what my dad would say if I started fighting..."

"Yeah." the man replied, that time showing no sympathy at all, "I noticed. Anyways, if you really think you're up to it, meet me tomorrow in back of the school, and we can start your training."

"Huh?" Matt asked, dumbfounded.

"What?" the man asked, "Surprised an old badger like me can train folks in ninjitsu?"

"Maybe a little," Matt replied, "but I just... I never got your name."

"And you never will, kid." the man replied with a smirk, "A shinobi don't never tell nobody his real name."

"But..." Matt started to protest, and the man seemed to relent for a moment.

"If you've gotta call me something, call me Stick." the man said as he turned to leave, "Now you'd better get going. Don't wanna miss your bus..."

Matt Murdock was amazed and confused by all that had happened to him all at once; all the things about himself he'd just been told, and the possibilities he'd been informed of... It was, he realized, going to be hard to focus on his homework that night.

* * *

Carol sat in her chair, holding her breath as Matt Murdock got to his feet in the courtroom. At first, she'd had her doubts about whether a blind man was the best choice to defend her in court, but Murdock seemed to have a pretty decent track record. He knew how to play to a jury. If Carol was going to be able to rely on anyone to help her, it was Matt.

Seeing him standing there in his suit and dark sunglasses, it was pretty plain as he walked forward that he had a plan; something he could say that would leave people feeling unsettled if they decided against her.

"You know, the reason I'm standing here today is because of the law. It's the reason we're all here." Murdock started, "I mean, we care about the law, and I'd like to think that most of us care about justice too. In our lives and our countries, in the modern world, the main reason that we have laws is to protect people from one another, and they need that protection pretty badly. Every day, if you hear the news like I do, you hear about all kinds of horrible things happening... killings, muggings... Heck, just last week, a girl was knifed down the street from this very courtroom. People need to be able to come to the law, and count on it to protect them. Wouldn't you want the law to protect you?"

Matt seemed to be getting underway. It was a simple statement to make, but it was the one that needed to be made.

"After all the times that Miss Ganley here has been endangered, all the times she's been threatened and attacked by this man, all the evidence presented here today... how can anyone here say that he is an innocent man? Mister Haloon has proven to my satisfaction that he cannot be trusted to remain at large."

Matt had turned briefly to face the judge, then the defendant as he'd been speaking, but he finally turned back to the jury and said "I know everyone here goes to a grocery store from time to time. Just try to imagine... just try... leaving that store and rushing to your car, knowing that just outside, a violent, selfish man was waiting to abuse you. Will you tell me, or will you tell Carol that she should have to live with that fear? Will you decide that that is the kind of world we live in? This man..." at that, he pointed to the defendant, "has stalked my client for months, and now that he's finally become a clear threat to her life, and the lives of those she cares about most, how can any of us be safe with him on the loose? I know that if I lose this case today, and Mister Haloon is allowed to go free, I won't be sleeping easy tonight. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, don't let Wednesday's tragedy repeat itself. Defend Miss Ganley, and defend yourselves. Make sure that the law is still used to protect the innocent; not the guilty. Be heroes."

Then, Matt took his seat back next to his client, and she almost felt like whistling. "Be heroes?" What an idealist Matt Murdock must have been to be able to say something like that. She'd have to talk with him about that later, if they won the case.

* * *

Within a few hours, Matt was back in his office, trying to keep up a smile for his client as he sipped his coffee. It had been a long day, but it had been worth it.

"I just... I thought he was never going to get put away..." Carol said with a smile, "I really owe you."

"No, not really." Matt replied, a frown on his face, "It's just business. As long as I'm getting paid, I've already been rewarded for what I've done today."

"That reminds me..." Carol said, "Do you really believe all that stuff you told the jury about being heroes and going out of your way to help people?"

Matt seemed a little confused by the question, but after a few seconds, he asked "Why not?"

"Well, no offense, but as pleased as I am with the verdict, you're still a lawyer. I mean, don't you guys make a fortune off ignoring morality?"

"Not all lawyers are the same, Miss." Matt replied, "As successful as I am in this business, I could have been a lot more successful if I'd ever agreed to represent a guilty party. That's where most of the money is these days. In the end, though, I decided to do the right thing; to use my talent only in protecting innocent people."

Matt paused for a moment, and then asked with a grin "There's no harm in that, is there?"

"Harm?" Carol asked, not sure what else to say, "No... no, it's not harmful, I'm just surprised. I guess all that time I spent being stalked... I mean, I kind of lost... I guess what I'm saying is that it looks like there are some good people in the world after all... I just didn't see it... I mean, uh..."

Carol had felt sorry as soon as she'd said "I didn't see it," because it was perfectly obvious that the lawyer who'd just saved her couldn't see at all, but he just chuckled when she spoke.

"You don't need to apologize to me, Miss Ganley. In a way, I like the way you put that. There are things that are easier for people like me to see, when you can't see things with your eyes."

"Yeah... Yeah, I guess so..." Ganley muttered, not sure what to say for a few moments, before she realized what time it was, "Oh, crap, I have to go. Look, I'll let you know if there's any more problems, alright?"

"Alright." Matt replied, his smile fading as she left in a hurry, but it wasn't her hurry that had started to make him feel worried. There was someone else in the room with him; someone he knew pretty well.

"So, why did you come to me this time?" Matt asked almost silently, sure that the man could hear him.

"There's a shinobi sect trying to move into this city." Stick replied, his voice seeming to come from the slim shadows beside the bookcase.

"Yeah, but you guys have your hearts in the right place." Matt replied with a grin.

"Shut up, wiseass." Stick replied, "I'm talking about the Hand, not just some regular old bunch of guys in ninja costumes. They want to start moving in on America. If they do, it ain't gonna be good for nobody in this city."

"So what's the problem?" Matt asked, confused, "Can't the Chaste just stop them again?"

"I wish." Stick replied, "You know how bad the odds are, Matt. You fought the Hand before once. We've got skill over them, but they've got all the money. That's how they do things, you know. They depend on greed. Ain't that the way they do it in America too?"

It was Matt Murdock's chance to do something that was truly right once again. It was the call to action, and yet, for some reason, he hesitated.

"I don't know..." Matt said at last, "Maybe if you can tell me what they're up to, and what I have to do, I'll look into it later, but for now I have a few other things I need to take care of."

"That ain't how a shinobi of the Chaste operates." Stick said with a note of worry in his voice, "We don't just hand out missions to folks on Craig's List. You've gotta really be determined to complete a mission, or else we don't say nothing about it."

"Yeah, I know." Matt replied, looking a little angry as he stared out the window, "You know, Stick, when you first started training me, I thought it was the best thing in the world. All that time we spent learning about keeping my senses sharp, running, jumping, acrobatics, the martial arts, weapons, pressure-points... it was all so awesome to a kid like me, but..."

Stick's eyes widened, as Matt left his sentence unfinished.

"You can't tell me you gave up on ninjitsu." Stick said with a slight air of scorn, "I know you too well to believe that. The shinobi life was all you wanted as a boy, and I know for a fact that you still want it."

Matt was silent for a few seconds, but he still seemed determined when he spoke.

"I can't be who I am and believe in justice, and still take the law into my own hands, like the Chaste do."

"Why not?" Stick asked, "I do it all the time. It's a blast."

"You don't believe in justice at all." Matt replied angrily.

"Sure I do." Stick replied, "I believe in all kindsa justice. I just don't trust judges and governments to deliver it. As long as there's people suffering, somebody's gotta be doing something wrong, so it's everybody's job to try to do as much right as they can. If you wanna call me a vigilante just because I think everybody aught to have the right to fight for what they believe in, then you can go ahead, but you've turned your back on ninjitsu either way. You ain't never gonna find a shinobi sect what comes as close to playing it straight as the Chaste do. I can guarantee that."

Stick paused for a few moments more, and there was total silence in the room, then suddenly, Stick's eyes opened wide as he came to a realization, and his long, thin, wooden staff shot out, striking Matt across the face. Matt had reacted quickly, kicking the staff to one side and preparing to defend himself, but Stick wasn't going to strike him again. He knew that within moments.

"Idiot! Moron! Numbskull! Of all the people to have your skill, you had to be a brainwashed little kid!" Stick exclaimed furiously, as he stepped forth from the shadows at last.

"Huh?" Matt asked, his voice full of confusion, "What're you talking about?"

"All these problems you've got with us and our ways ain't got nothing to do with justice, and you know it!" Stick spat out angrily, "You're still hoping you can make your pop happy by never fighting, you stupid, pacifistic clod! You've got all this talent, but every day, somebody dies by the hand of a criminal or a crook! How can you say you don't need to fight and mean it? How can you fool yourself into thinking you ain't needed?"

"Just get out of here." Matt replied, deep fury rising within him at the older man, "I never want to see you again."

Stick was every bit as furious as Matt by that point, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. The most promising shinobi that he had ever met had made his decision, and he'd decided never again to fight; never again to use the potential they'd spent so long training in... What a waste that guy was, Stick thought as he left the building.

* * *

The spotlights shone down from above on the boxing arena as Jack Murdock prepared for the final round of his match. It had been really hard to get a match against Crusher Creel, and Jack had had to do a few things he wasn't proud of, but more people were watching him that night than had been in all of his other fights combined.

However, just as Jack was about to get back up in preparation for the final round, he heard the voice of Chris Hutchinsen speaking to him from just outside the ring.

"Looking good, Jackie. The betting's as high as I've seen it in a while."

Jack grinned a little. He didn't feel accustomed to all the attention, but it was a little comforting.

"Just take the dive near the end of the match like we agreed, and we can all go home and yak it up over drinks, huh?" Chris said, but that was when something had occurred to Jack. How could he lose to Crusher Creel? The man wasn't really all that great of a boxer. If Jack lost, it would be entirely his own fault, and he didn't like the taste of that, particularly with all those people watching. As great as the opportunities had been when he'd agreed to the fight, surely more would show up in the future if he actually won it...

"I'm having second thoughts about throwing the fight, Chris." Jack said as he sat there, "It's stupid. Talk me out of it."

"Jackie, don't go down that road." Chris warned him obediently, "These people... trust me. They've got a lot riding on you throwing this fight, and if you win out there, you're gonna piss them off something bad... Trust me. You don't want to do that."

"I'm not scared of them." Jack replied defiantly, "Tell me about how I'll make so much more money by losing than by winning. Tell me that."

Chris was silent after Jack made that request for several seconds, and Jack knew, with dread, why that was. The truth was, if Jack cared about his career, even in the slightest, he had to make a good first impression on the viewers. He'd lose his current agent, but when the stakes were that high, and he got the chance to prove how good he was, he could get another agent easily, and when he thought about it that way, Jack Murdock's doubts became a determination. He was going to win the fight, and he'd win it quickly.

The bell rang, echoing through the whole room in spite of the people cheering nearby for one (or in a few cases, both) of them. Crusher seemed confident as he advanced on Jack, but Jack knew he had it in the bag. He'd never shown anyone his best moves before.

As soon as Crusher reached the middle of the ring, Jack moved closer, and Crusher threw his first punch. Jack ducked easily back away from the blow, and then weaved in between more punches aimed as his head. Soon, Crusher was starting to get mad, throwing punches furiously, but Jack was a blur to him, seeming to be all across his field of vision, yet totally untouchable. Then suddenly, Jack Murdock was off to one side, and Crusher couldn't react in time, as Jack planted a hard blow in his gut, then brought it up, knocking aside his arms, and striking him hard in the chin. Crusher was on the ground in no time as the announcer began the countdown.

* * *

The world was a beautiful place for Jack Murdock as he drove home from the arena that night. There was, of course, a nice check in his pocket, but the real reward had been the respect and admiration he'd be awarded from then on, and the opportunities it opened up to finally be a large-scale winner. Of course, Jack's son was the real winner. He'd got himself a good education and a good job, and he was making plenty of money. Jack never could have made the down payment on his car without Matt's help. In a way, he owed all of his recent successes to Matt. If not for Matt's courage and determination, he might have lost hope long ago, but Jack saw the way his son had coped with being blinded; taking it in stride like it was nothing, and every time he was tempted to give up, he just thought to himself, "Would Matt do that? Is this really all that bad, or is there an upside?" Then in a while, he'd start to feel better.

However, as Jack parked his car just inside the small driveway at his home, he could see that someone else was standing there at the doorway, and reality dawned on him again. The world wasn't, after all, a great place to live, no matter how he felt, and the man standing there on his doorstep was one of the reasons why.

Jack didn't like the feel of the situation he'd found himself in, but he couldn't think of a way out of it either. One way or another, he was going to have to face Tom Dafonte, and, he realized, he might as well do it right away.

* * *

Matt Murdock heard the shout of pain, and the sound of a gun with a silencer going off when he was still six blocks from his home, and sped up his pace as he sprinted towards the small house that he shared with his father Jack. Every time his shoes made contact with the pavement with a clack, he could hear the shapes of the obstacles that surrounded him, so he wasn't slowed in the least as he rounded that last corner, but even before he'd come within what would normally be sight of his house, he'd detected the shape of a body lying on his front steps, and when he got just a little closer, he could tell who it was, by the shape of their features. There was no heartbeat, no pulse, and the warmth was diminishing from his body... Jack Murdock was dead.

He could feel his heart breaking as he rushed forward to where his father lay, still and lifeless on the ground, with thick, warm liquid soaking his shirt. The killer hadn't been gone long.

Matt had been holding back a scream ever since he'd realized that his father was dead, but he let it loose then, screaming as loud and, as hard as his lungs would let him, and the scream had given him something else that he'd been craving a great deal; the shape of the face of his father's killer.

The man was running down a nearby alley with a gun in one hand, but that was no obstacle for a... for what? For a ninja, it would have been no obstacle, but Matt had turned his back on that lifestyle. Could he, he wondered, get it back so easily, just for one night? He quickly realized, however, that even if he couldn't, he couldn't just let that man get away with what he'd done.

Matt had sensed that man's shape before, and he knew not only his shape, but his name. Tom Dafonte had allegedly been a business partner of Jack. The number of reasons a man like him could have for murder were almost limitless, and Matt Murdock knew that one way or another, he was going to bring that man in.

Quickly Matt rushed into his house, stepping over the body of his father, slammed the door shut behind him, and marched into his study, then rushed over to a locked closet at the far end of the room, pulled a key out of his shirt pocket, and discovered that a long, wooden staff was blocking his path to the closet.

Immediately, without needing to turn and face Stick directly, Matt commanded him "Get out of my way, and get out of my house. This is an emergency."

"Is it?" Stick asked, "Why? Why is your emergency more important than mine?"

"Shut up, old man!" Matt exclaimed, "Someone just murdered my father!"

Immediately, the staff whipped around and struck Matt across the face yet again, that time so hard that it knocked him backwards. In only a moment, he felt it strike again against his chest, knocking him to the floor, and suddenly, there it was again, pressed against his throat.

"I may be just as blind as you," Stick said as he stood over Matt, "but that doesn't make me as stupid. I know more about the art of the shinobi than any good man alive, and you broke the cardinal rule this evening. You turned your back on the shinobi sect that trained you; left us because of something that you believed in more than our collective well-being. In some sects, such as the Hand, you would be assassinated for such a desertion. Among the Chaste, shinobi who desert are immediately robbed of every item they have, which might aid them in functioning as shinobi. In short, I have every right to your shinobi mask and outfit, and any weapons you might have lying around. The training of shinobi is specialized and rare. It is not to be tossed around lightly by anyone, no matter how gifted they may be. If you will not accept the responsibilities of being a Chaste shinobi, you will not benefit from its rewards either, and if you try to, I may decide to change my mind and kill you, and I still think I could."

"Don't spit your tired rhetoric at me." Matt barked back, trying to maintain his composure in the face of such a dangerous man, "You have no idea what it's like to have someone that close to you taken like this. I can't just sit back and do nothing. You don't know..."

"I don't know, do I?" Stick asked again, looking crueler than ever, "Let me tell you what I know, Matt Murdock. I know that every year, the Hand carries out hundreds of assassinations, and most of them have families too. I know that those families feel sadness and pain as great as, or greater than yours, and I know that when you decided not to accept my mission this afternoon, it was because you didn't care about any of that. Oh, you say you can't sit back and do nothing, but only because it was YOUR father who died. For anyone else's, you couldn't care less, could you? If that's really how you feel, you don't deserve to be Chaste. Either way, I'll let you get back up, but I'm taking your shinobi things."

Then slowly, hesitantly, Stick did as he'd said he would, removing his staff from Matt's neck, but Matt didn't get up. He had a stunned look on his face, that Stick couldn't help but grin over.

"Didn't think of that, did you?" Stick asked, smiling deviously, "It just didn't occur to you, did it?"

Matt slowly got to his feet, and there were new thoughts in his head, which he needed a moment to finish digesting before he spoke again.

"I'm still not sure I can always help the Chaste when they need me." Matt said, "There's always the chance they may decide to do something I can't condone... But... I'll help you with your mission once I've found my father's killer and punished him."

"I take that as a mission from you." Stick replied, "If you break your promise, I really will kill you."

Matt nodded, and then rushed quickly to the other side of the room to open the closet and retrieve his outfit. It was completely black, with a mask that left only his eyes exposed. It wasn't comfortable, but at least it was an effective disguise, which was what Matt needed at the time. He also grabbed the short, metal staff that stick had given him long ago. It was the weapon of a Chaste shinobi. The Chaste preferred not to take life when it could be helped, so they used the long staffs in place of swords. Matt's staff, in particular, had a few extra functions that most didn't, and was considerably shorter than the one Stick carried, almost to the point of looking like a policeman's nightstick.

As soon as he was ready, Matt shoved the stick into a slot hanging from his belt, and rushed outside with Stick following close behind. As soon as Matt got outside, he started off at a sprint, traveling as fast as he could go through the neighborhood in search of his prey. In his disguise, no one could have recognized him, so he felt totally free to travel as fast as he could on foot, leaping great distances from time to time, until he was able to catch Dafonte's scent. He'd lost track of the guy for a short time when he'd been occupied with Stick inside the house, but he quickly picked up the trail again, traveling faster than Dafonte could have on foot, until he was able to get sonic images of him as well, and from there, it was a sprint of less than sixty seconds before he got to within a dozen yards of the man.

By that point, Matt could have approached from any number of directions to attack, but it wasn't just any old crook he was chasing; it was the man who'd killed his father. He didn't just want to catch him, he wanted to terrify him.

In a flash, Matt was scaling one of the nearby walls quickly and silently, watching his victim as he reached the second story, and balanced easily on a series of metal and ceramic balconies that he found there. Then, he was off again, almost at a sprint, except without making the slightest noise. For a moment, Matt wished that he had a smoke bomb, but it probably wouldn't have been worth the expense anyway. At last, he was almost standing right above the man, and being careful to move so that his shadow wouldn't be visible to Dafonte, he climbed back down the wall until he was right behind the killer. Such climbs have been called impossible by many, many people, but those people, clearly, were not shinobi.

Matt waited only a moment as he stood behind Dafonte before he made his move, drawing his club across the guy's neck to the point where the steel almost choked him. Dafonte didn't hesitate either before firing at him.

Sensing that Dafonte had been closing his fingers around the trigger, Matt had moved aside quickly to avoid the first shot, then grabbed the man's weapon arm in one hand, and easily bent it backward in such as way as to not only cause him horrible pain, but force him to drop the gun as well.

"That was foolish of you." Matt said, disguising his voice quite well, "You've killed one man tonight already. Isn't that enough?"

"Let go!" Dafonte gasped around the club being held at his throat, "Stop it!"

"Why would I want to do that?" Matt asked, "Give me one good reason."

"Look, if this is about that guy back there, I swear it wasn't me that...AAGH!"

Matt had responded to the sentence by slamming his head against the back of Dafonte's, causing him horrible pain, and knocking his teeth around badly. It almost seemed like Dafonte was so desperate and afraid that he was about to cry.

"Give me a BETTER reason." Matt said.

"Look, I swear I didn't..."

Matt struck Dafonte with his head again, harder that time, to make sure the killer felt it.

"It gets worse each time." Matt said angrily, "Give me the answer I want."

"Okay! Okay!" Dafonte exclaimed, "The truth is, I only shot that guy because I was told to. There's a new ring in the city, and they had money on Crusher Creel, but that guy back there, Jack, he was supposed to throw that fight with Creel. They'd have made a killing, and they'd have enough dough to finish their shipments the legit way. But Jack didn't want to throw the fight, so they told me to kill him."

"And who are they?" Matt demanded.

"If... if I tell you..." Dafonte said, seeing a possible opportunity, "will you let me go?"

"No." Matt replied, tightening the grip of his metal club on the man's larynx. It only took Dafonte a moment to decide whether he wanted to upset that stranger anymore.

"Alright!" he gasped, "Alright. I don't know who they are at the top, but I can tell you where I meet their boys. There's a spot down near the docks at Pier forty-two between the second and third warehouse, where we arrange business together. They pay me good money, and I don't ask questions, but they're expecting to hear from me tonight in an hour and a half. If you want one of them, that's where you ought to go. Now, stop crushing my throat, you devil!"

"Yeah." Matt replied, then in a moment more, he'd let go of Dafonte's arm, and jammed his fingers directly into the man's neck. Dafonte went limp almost instantly, falling to the ground, and it would be quite some time before he would wake up. By that point, he and his gun would be back at the scene of the crime, tied up and helpless, and Matt would be on his way to the docks.

* * *

Of course, Matt had expected to find Stick at the docks before he even arrived there, and he wasn't disappointed. Stick had mastered the arts of ninjitsu on a level beyond even his, in spite of the special talent that Matt Murdock had for them.

"Thank you, by the way." Matt said as he approached Stick, who was crouched on the rooftop of the very building that Dafonte had mentioned.

"You mean, for not stepping in?" Stick asked, "Don't mention it. The guy killed your dad. You deserved the satisfaction. Thing is, there's something you oughtta know. This gang that guy brought up is probably being backed..."

"By the hand?" Matt asked.

"From everything I heard about their operations, this is one of the spots where their sect trades." Stick said, "If they ain't involved in this yet, they will be soon. I guess what I'm saying is, don't be too surprised if we wind up having to fight enemy shinobi, and some of the hand shinobi have some pretty nasty powers..."

"Powers?" Matt asked, shocked and worried, "Powers like what?"

"Sh... shaddup." Stick replied, "Somebody's coming."

Matt swiftly fell silent as he began to notice what Stick had been referring to. There were definitely people approaching. At least three... no. Four. The fourth was almost completely silent, which probably meant that he was shinobi.

"He's not gonna show." one of the men said, "I'll bet he doesn't have the guts to face us after what happened."

"It's possible that he simply couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger." another man said, "Many people get cold feet when they're asked to shoot somebody."

"If he has, his own life is forfeit." the mostly silent one said, "No one betrays us and lives."

"S'all I needed to hear." Stick said aloud, standing up so that the men on the ground could see him, "We can get this started anytime."

It was a tactic that Stick didn't even need to explain to Matt. He'd distract them while Matt attacked from the shadows.

"Who's the geezer?" one of the men asked.

"The Chaste leader!" the shinobi exclaimed, a delighted smile on his face, "I can prove my power at last. When I bring your head before the Hand leaders, Stick, they'll make me one of the ten Grand Phantoms of the Hand."

"You ain't one yet, huh?" Stick asked, leaping quickly and easily to the ground with a crouch that absorbed most of the impact, "This won't take long."

"Don't confuse it." the shinobi replied, "My current power is greater than many of theirs. It is only because we so rarely get to confront enemies and obstacles worthy of us that I have not advanced."

"Show me." Stick said as the enemy shinobi waved the others of his group back. In a flash, Matt had snuck up behind the enemy shinobi's accomplices, and poked the one furthest back in either side of the neck, causing him to fall backward, unconscious and paralyzed. Matt Murdock had pulled him over the edge of the docks silently and quickly before anyone had even noticed that anything had happened. Even the enemy shinobi seemed to have been unable to really sense it.

Soon, the Hand shinobi had seemed almost to fade from view completely, but in only a moment, Stick had done the same thing, and a second later, the two reappeared, and Stick swatted his enemy to the ground with a swipe of his staff.

"Gunmen might think that's cool when they see it," Stick said, "but its chump change to a true ninja master. Anybody and their granny can do that old trick."

However, Stick was noticing something unsettling as the enemy shinobi got to his feet and Matt silently dragged another of his accomplices under the dock. The last blow he'd made didn't seem to have left any mark on the man's face.

"Yeah." the shinobi said, "I didn't think that'd work. Guess I'll have to get serious with you. Of course, since I know your shinobi name, you may as well know mine. It's Brass."

"Not that it helps to know that, but thanks a bunch." Stick replied with a scowl. The Hand shinobi rarely took names that described their special talents in any way. For all he knew, Brass's special power was to fire laser beams from his hair. Many Hand ninja, however, did indeed have special powers in addition to their shinobi skills. It was a secret technique that the Hand never revealed to anyone outside of their sect, and it had made them very successful and powerful. Brass definitely had some kind of power that he wasn't telling Stick about.

In only a moment, however, as Matt dragged his third victim under the docks, Brass began to use his powers. He clapped his hands together horizontally, and suddenly, there was a chill in the air that hadn't been there before. In only a moment, icy shards had flown forth from his hands in Stick's direction, spreading out all around him, so that there was no way he could simply dodge them.

Stick did react quickly, twirling his staff around in an attempt to deflect the icy shards, but as soon as he'd done that, he noticed that something was wrong. The shards that he'd struck with the ends of his staff were growing larger; forming into barriers of ice over his rod, and climbing along it towards his hands. Stick had no choice, he quickly realized, but to drop his staff, which left him defenseless from another such attack. Brass was tougher than he'd though, and that was before he saw icy, transparent armor appearing all along the man's arms and shoulders. He was about to attack again.

As skilled as Stick was, he wasn't sure how to respond to someone who could encase a person in ice with a single projectile, and could fire them off like mad in all directions, and from the looks of things, Brass wasn't finished yet. Stick would need to fight defensively for a while if he wanted to win, and hope that Matt wasn't stupid enough to try punching the guy.

"You can't escape my ice shards," Brass said as he fired the attack off again, "and you certainly can't block them. You're through!"

Stick felt the icy shards headed towards him with every step he took, but there wasn't anything nearby big enough to hide behind. He didn't like to use his special technique in front of an enemy ninja, but he couldn't see any other way to survive.

Quickly, Stick clapped his hands together, and felt a rush of energy fill his body and mind. He could have run a marathon, or written a book at that moment, or, most importantly, he could leap over an oncoming barrage. All the exhaustion had faded from him for a few moments as he escaped his enemy's latest attack, dove forward along the ground, and grabbed his opponent by the leg. Brass let out a short exclamation of surprise and aggravation as he was flipped over onto the ground, but Stick was in worse shape. The impact of Brass's armor with the ground had sent another collection of ice crystals flying into the air, and a sheet of ice was spreading rapidly across Stick's arms. He couldn't keep fighting like that.

"Now for my prize." Brass said, getting back to his feet, but that was when Stick heard the voice of his student; the voice of his only hope.

"I wouldn't do that."

Brass turned to look in surprise at Matt, who was still wearing his mask and ninja gear, and holding a small, metal club in one hand.

"You've got some powerful techniques, but they have a fatal weakness. If you try to kill Stick, I'm going to tear you to shreds."

A futile bluff, Stick thought. There was no way that Matt had noticed a weakness in the technique that he hadn't. Still, it was nice to know that the kid hadn't given up yet, and was at least trying to save his master.

"When I'm through with this one, I'm hunting you down too, just for that." Brass replied, then turned back to Stick, and drew a small blade from a spot at his belt. However, in only a moment, Matt was on top of him, swinging his club at Brass's face. Brass reacted quickly, bringing his armored arms up, to protect himself as the ice on those arms grew outwards in a series of long, sharp points. Then, Matt swept his club alone the icicles, and shattered many of them, sending more ice shards flying, some of which bounced harmlessly off of Brass's face and chest. As expected, his attack didn't spread along his own body.

Soon, Matt had leapt back away from Brass, back towards the street light at the end of the dock, with a sheet of ice climbing up his club.

"One more warning." Matt said as the ice got closer to his hands, "Let him go and leave this city in peace."

In response, the vertical icicles on Brass's armor grew larger than before, and he was about to ram into Stick's back with the ones on his left shoulder, when Matt made his move.

Tapping his ice-covered club against the street lamp a few times, Matt Murdock pulled back, and struck the metal pole with it as hard as he could. The result was a single note of a clear, chime-like pitch that was both loud and high, and at once, the ice on Matt's staff shattered in all directions, losing its shape and integrity completely. In less than a second more, the same thing happened to the ice around Stick's staff, around his arms, and most importantly, around Brass.

Stick could feel the sharp points of the ice sticking into his flesh from a number of different directions. He was wounded, and it might take weeks to heal, but Brass was in much worse shape. The ice that had covered him had been so long and sharp, that when it had shattered, it had gone over a foot into his flesh. Warm blood threatened to melt the ice somewhat, as the man screamed in horror. Then, in just a moment, his heart stopped, and a green, acidic smoke rose up around him.

Brass was dead in moments, and his body had been dissolved by the smoke even before he'd hit the ground. It was, Stick knew, the way of the Hand. All Hand shinobi had a device in their bodies that destroyed their remains at the point of death, so that no one could learn the secrets of their powers. After what he'd just seen, though, Stick was feeling a little less eager to acquire powers like those of Brass.

In only a moment more, Matt got closer to Stick, then asked "Are you alright?"

"Do I look alright to you?" Stick asked sarcastically, "I'm probably going to live, but right now, it's just the adrenaline keeping me awake. You better get me back to the Chaste, or all this will have been a waste of our time."

Quickly, Matt grabbed Stick under one arm, and his staff under the other, and was off through the shadows of the city once more...

* * *

The Chaste had three locations in New York City, all of them small, and all quite mobile, which they used as bases of operations. Matt left Stick at one of them, removed his own shinobi gear, locked it up in his house and went back to work. For a while, it looked like that would be the end of his adventures, but after his father's wake, and the funeral after that, Matt found that his work in law wasn't as satisfying as it had been. The more he studied law, the more he saw just how many crooks got away with their crimes, and how many of the justice system's rules served only to obstruct justice. People needed something better; a guardian to protect them, and save them from evil.

As Matt came to that realization, he eventually marked a date on his calendar, and three weeks after the death of his father, Matt Murdock came home from work in the evening, and dug out his shinobi gear once again. That was when he heard another familiar voice behind him.

"I'm surprised you waited this long."

Quickly, Matt tapped his foot against the floor, finding Stick before too long, standing in a corner of his study.

"You knew I couldn't just give it up now that I know what it feels like to lose someone and crave justice." Matt said somberly.

"Yeah..." Stick replied, "Now, I don't want to say it was good that your dad died, but it seems to have given you some much-needed perspective. Guys like us... we need to use the skills we've got to protect folks, or we might as well not have 'em at all."

"I can't be one of the Chaste, though." Matt replied, "We may believe in similar things, and I don't mind helping you from time to time, but..."

"But you've got a busy life, and you can't commit." Stick replied, "I kinda thought you'd say that, but after that daredevil stunt you pulled to drag me out of the fire, so to speak, I'd say you've just about earned that right. However..."

Matt had a feeling that Stick was about to add another condition, and sure enough, in a moment, Stick had snatched the thin, black mask from Matt's hands.

"This is a Chaste mask, Matt." Stick said, "I don't want you wearing it unless you're a real Chaste. Wear this one instead..."

Then, he handed Matt Murdock another mask, and as soon as Matt got a good look at it, he chuckled in delight. It was just like the Chaste mask, in that it covered his face completely except for his eyes. There was only one difference. On the forehead were two small horns, no bigger than an inch long each.

"I was thinking of Sound Wave, fer your shinobi name, but why tell the Hand more'n they need to know?" Stick said with a smile, "Never give up the fight, Daredevil. There's lots of folks what still need your help."

Then, Stick backed away into the corner of the room again, and it seemed, pretty soon, that he was gone, and Matt was alone. He was tired, upset, sad and lonely, and yet, at no point in his life had it been any clearer what he had to do.

* * *

"Hey, Ralph, did you hear about that police bust the other day? It was just a few blocks down the street."

"Yeah... Big drug ring or something, right?"

"I heard the cops didn't have much of a fight."

"Yeah. Why do you s'pose that is?"

"Well, nobody knows for sure, but there was this rumor that some of 'em said they were attacked by the devil."

"Serious?"

"Yeah. They were scared half to death when the cops picked 'em up. Worried they were going to be dragged to Hell or some such thing. Craziest story I ever heard."

"Suppose there really is a devil out there, Chuck... some weird critter that shows up when people... but that's silly. I mean, it's like what you'd tell a kid to make 'em eat their veggies, right?"

"I dunno, Ralph. There's been a bunch of rumors just like the one I told you about all across town. Nobody's ever got a picture of it yet, but there's a chance it could really be a devil..."

* * *

End


	10. Issue 10: Only Human Part 1

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 10

"Only Human"

Part 1 of 2

* * *

"Right there, sir." the young lieutenant said, pointing to the blip on the radar, "It faded again after just a moment, but this time we got a definite location."

"We have to move quick." General Simon replied, "Call Danvers and prep her jet. We might not get another shot at this."

By a large margin, no pilot on the west coast had a better record than Carol Danvers. She'd raised the art of leveling off a jet against wind currents to a whole new level, and General Simon had a feeling that the entire reason she'd never been promoted beyond Sergeant was that the higher-ups in the base she worked at were unwilling to do anything that would move her to duties other than actually flying a plane. She was that good, and for that mission the general needed the best.

A couple of weeks before, blips had started appearing on the radar screens, and strange transmissions had been picked up from an area of the Pacific Ocean, but the air force had never been able to get a solid bead on the location of whatever was causing the strange readings.

The first time it happened, it was brought before Peter Simon. The second time it happened, he brought it to the attention of the joint chiefs, and the third time it happened, a report found its way to the president's desk on the subject. Upon reading it, he'd decided to authorize the deployment of a small-scale investigation by the air force to check it out, and make sure it wasn't some new terrorist weapon.

"Whatever it is, it's not one of ours, and it's a little closer to American waters than I like." the president had told Simon over the phone, "If there's any evidence that it might by from an unfriendly nation, report that evidence and we'll decide on a course of action."

Simon was pleased to have gotten authorization to investigate the blips. They'd been bothering him for a while, and he didn't like the idea of leaving a mystery unsolved. He was also pleased to see the president reacting to a potential threat so prudently. It was refreshing to not be ordering an attack on anything for the moment. It almost made him feel as if it were possible to live peacefully.

* * *

Carol Danvers was feeling pretty good about her current mission. She was being sent to investigate some radar blip out in the ocean. It was probably going to wind up being nothing, but then, a boring mission meant that she wouldn't be going into battle at least. She'd been in a war before, and it wasn't something she was eager to go through again.

Truthfully, Carol Danvers didn't like war, or any weapons of war. She also didn't like using deadly weapons or killing people. In fact, she thought, like most women and most sensible people, that killing was silly and pointless, but she hadn't gotten a job with the air force so that she could kill. In fact, the reason she'd learned to fly planes in the first place was simply that she loved flying. Swift motion through changing environments had always been a dream and a fascination of hers, and flying a plane or a helicopter was the natural extension of that dream. Originally, she'd wanted to fly space ships, but as the space program had lost steam in recent years, she'd quickly realized that it wasn't practical or common to find work in that field, sadly. People's dreams of space travel had faded, and with them the chance for people to chart and explore space. If no one wanted to commit to space exploration, it wasn't going to happen, which, for Carol and those like her, was a shame. Her adventurous spirit might have been able to maintain its strength if it had seemed like there had still been opportunities for adventure.

However, although Carol had lost most of her dreams for adventure, her love of rapid motion, and of flying hadn't faded, and in spite of all the shields between herself and the open air, she still loved the feeling of being up so high, watching the world zip by around her.

It was that love of flight that drove her to keep getting into that plane whenever the air force said they needed her help. She could have left the air force at any time, to get a more mundane job. It wasn't as if she was poor, and she probably could have lived on a part-time job for the rest of her life, but it wasn't the money that kept her in the air force; it was the love of flight.

Within a couple hours of getting the message from General Simon, Carol was flying over the Pacific Ocean towards the anomaly that the military had just recently detected. It had to be something big and powerful, or it wouldn't have caused the disturbances she'd been told about. Carol wasn't much of a scientist, but in her experience, large storms tended to cause those kinds of reactions, and it wouldn't have surprised her at all to learn that what she was chasing was really a tornado. What did surprise Carol Danvers, however, was what she saw when she got within visual range of the object she'd been sent to investigate. It wasn't like anything she'd ever seen before.

* * *

"General. General Simon, this is Sergeant Danvers." the radio piped up.

"Sergeant?" the General asked, taking the radio from its normal operator, "Find something?"

"Yes sir." Carol replied, "It's like a huge fog bank with high winds."

"A fog bank?" the general asked, confused, "The boys in the lab told me that whatever was causing the interference would have to be electronic in nature."

"Well, there might be some kind of machine inside the fog. It's big enough to be covering a whole island."

"Can you get closer?" the general asked.

"Yes sir, but there's a chance I might not be able to keep the plane level if I do that. I'm having to work to keep her steady as it is."

The general didn't like the position he was being put in. It was a tough choice to make. He never liked ordering people into dangerous situations, and he especially didn't like the idea of losing the sergeant, but if she couldn't get through the fog, nobody could.

"Alright." the general said after a moment, "Move in closer. See if you can figure out what's inside the storm front and report back."

"Yes sir." Carol replied obediently. A moment later, she spoke through the radio again, "Turbulence is greater here than I was expecting... Not sure I can... contact with you... much longer..."

"Sergeant?" the general asked, "What's going on? I'm not reading you."

"Something about the... interfering with the... communication channels... satellite broadcast... choppy at best..."

"Satellite?" the general asked, confused, "You mean there's something interfering with our satellite network?"

"...can't... anymore... have to... later..."

"Sergeant? Sergeant!" the general demanded, but it was too late. Carol's transmission had broken up.

Hours wore on, and there was no further word from Carol. At last, the afternoon became the evening, which swiftly turned to night, and General Peter Simon knew that Carol Danvers would not be reporting back.

* * *

Doctor Reed Richards smiled as he fitted the last of the tubing into place on his machine and activated the power. It was time to see if his latest invention would really do what it had been designed for.

As the power came on, Reed Richards started typing commands into the attached keyboard and feeding the machine information about the specific energy type that he was searching for. He wasn't a hundred percent certain that it was all the information the machine would need, but it was certainly all the data he had, and pretty soon, the machine was working, drawing information from Reed's energy pulse beacon to seek that one, specific type of energy in the whole solar system that Reed Richards needed most.

For several seconds, Reed waited as the pulse beacon scanned and scanned, searching for an energy type that could be used to power the alien device which, Reed hoped, could change Ben Grimm back to a human-like appearance. However, before even fifteen seconds had elapsed, the machine had begun to display results on the screen. Something had been found right on planet Earth.

Reed was thrilled as he watched the machine displaying its information; the energy that it had detected, the amount of that energy that it could be sure existed, and most importantly, its precise location. With a broad smile on his face, Reed made a printout of the data and ran to tell his friends.

"Great news, everybody!" Reed exclaimed as he stepped into the recreation room where Ben and Johnny were playing video games.

"Sale on textbooks?" Ben joked sarcastically, pausing the game.

"No, I mean great news for you, old friend." Reed replied, smiling as he took the joke with his customary good humor, "Remember that energy that I told you I needed to change you back? Well, I think I may have found some out in the Pacific Ocean."

"Hey, that's amazing buddy!" Ben said, "Scuba gear, then?"

"Well, we may want to bring some," Reed replied, "but I wasn't planning on getting there by boat. It's too slow. We can reach there this afternoon if we take the JUMP."

"Hey!" Johnny exclaimed, "Can I come too?"

"I think it'd be a great idea if we all went." Reed said, still smiling, "This could be a really important event in Ben's life. It'd be better if we were all there for him, I think."

"Man, I don't know how to thank you, buddy." Ben said, smiling already.

"Well, don't thank me just yet." Reed replied, looking a little embarrassed, "There's still a lot of work to do, even if we can find some way to gather the energy and use it. Still, it's a step in the right direction."

"Yeah. Yeah, right." Ben replied with some enthusiasm, "So when do we leave?"

* * *

The time to leave came, as it turned out, only a short while later. Soon, they were all in the JUMP, and ready to take off. The cockpit of the JUMP had needed to be totally redesigned to accommodate Ben Grimm's increased size and power. Ben had piloted that very same plane easily before his transformation, but it was a long harder when your shoulders were almost twice as broad, and your hands more than twice as large. Still, in spite of his increased size, and his tendency to break things whenever he got his hands on then, Ben was still a better pilot than anyone else Reed knew, and the time and trouble of redesigning the cockpit interior with larger, stronger handles, wider edges and a bigger set of safety belts had been, in his mind, well worth it.

Since the incident that had changed Reed and the others into the Fantastic Four, Ben had frequently seemed irritable and antsy around everyone and everything. The only exception, it had turned out, was when he was doing something that really reminded him of his own past as a normal human, like piloting a plane. Normally, flying a plane; even a small one was a somewhat stressful thing, but once Reed had fixed up the cockpit to fit him, Ben had seemed to be so much more relaxed whenever he was in the JUMP or their flying car. That alone would have made the cost of the remodeling worthwhile.

However, on that day, being in the JUMP didn't seem to be calming Ben down any, and Reed could understand why. Ben was eager to regain his human appearance. It was easy to feel some sympathy for him in that respect. Ben was much larger and broader than he'd been before the transformation, as well as having orange skin with roughly the consistency of solid bedrock. To Reed Richards, who was used to seeing all sorts of strange creatures from all over the world as a scientist would, Ben didn't look particularly hideous, but then, he didn't look particularly human either.

After taking off from the launch pad on the roof of the building where Reed's lab was, the JUMP rose up, further and further into the air, then from that position, seemed to turn almost directly sideways, miles up in the air, and shot to the west along the curvature of the Earth. Reed smiled as the whole thing took place. True to its name, the JUMP reached new locations by traveling directly up like a rocket, then turning in the direction it needed to travel in, and coasting through the Earth's atmosphere until it reached that location. In some ways, it was a little like a combination rocket and jet, and it could take them to the Pacific Ocean in minutes, provided they didn't run into any tornadoes over the Midwestern United States.

As the JUMP carried the four incredible humans across an entire continent, however, little was said between them, which was a bit uncommon. Of course, Johnny knew enough to keep his mouth shut while Ben was flying the plane, but Reed would usually have piped up with some piece of information he found interesting, and Sue might have said something to try to keep everyone from losing their cool. During that trip, however, everyone else seemed reasonably cool, if a little unsettled, and yet, Sue was obviously deeply worried. It wasn't really a worry for their safety, or the success of their mission. Sue rarely worried about those sorts of things for very long. What concerned her was the behavior of her friends; how they were reacting and what they were doing. It was, she knew, a problem, but it would have been a bigger problem if she'd voiced her concerns openly in front of Johnny, and especially in front of Ben.

At last, the silent and less-than-comfortable ride was nearing its end as the JUMP got within a few dozen yards of their destination, but by the time they'd reached that location, they found that silence was no longer a problem.

A massive fog bank with powerful and loud winds had risen up before them along the horizon as they'd flown west from the coast. Whatever it was, it was far enough out to sea that it wouldn't have been seen from the coastline itself, and yet, when one was headed towards its location, it wasn't exactly easy to miss. Soon, it had filled the entire cockpit window as Ben turned the JUMP to one side to avoid being knocked into a nosedive.

"Your call, Big Brain." Ben said as they began to circle around the massive storm, "How're we gonna get past this?"

"The energy readings are definitely coming from right inside that storm." Reed confirmed, "See if you can try to rise above it and slide through the storm's eye to whatever's in the center."

"Thread the needle, huh?" Ben asked with a smile, "You got it, buddy. This is cake."

In moments, the JUMP was rising upward again through the air, using its jets to give it an extra boost whenever there was a need until, at last, it leveled off. It certainly looked like the storm was a pretty good distance below as Ben turned the plane vertical again in mid-air, and immediately switched to the rocket propulsion again, then started a slow descent into the storm's very center, where, in any tornado or hurricane, the one calm spot in a storm is.

However, after descending for only a little over a minute, it was obvious that something was wrong. The entire plane was shaking like a baby rattle, and Ben seemed to be having trouble keeping it under control.

"Ben!" Reed exclaimed, worry all over his face, "What's going on?"

"I dunno how to tell ya this, stretch..." Ben said, "but this storm ain't got an eye. The winds are bad all over, like some kinda dome."

"A dome made of wind?" Reed asked, worried and amazed all at once, "Then it can't be natural weather. Natural weather patterns function to redistribute air and temperature. A wind dome would just unbalance the weather in the area, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, thanks." Ben said, "'Cept instead of a science lecture, how's about some ideas? This plane's headed for a crash!"

"Can't you break free?" Reed asked, feeling the strong winds starting to toss the JUMP over like a coin flipped into the air.

"Not a chance." Ben replied, frustration and worry in his voice, "We're coming down hard."

Reed looked out the windows for a moment before he decided that the best course would be to trust in Ben's judgment. He was, after all, still the pilot.

"Ben, stand by on the eject switch until we're clear of the high winds. If we don't get clear of them, we're better off not ejecting. You'll survive, I'll survive and Johnny can handle himself in mid-air. I'll grab Sue on the way down, but I don't want harsh winds tearing us to shreds as soon as we leave the plane."

Reed's rocky friend just nodded, and turned a knob on the ceiling, which opened a small, plastic box with a button inside. He carefully braced one finger against the edge of the box, ready to press that button at any moment, as the others prepared as best they could to be ejected into the open air. At last, the trembling stopped, and the plane was in free-fall, and that was when Ben pushed the button, and they were all launched out of it as the JUMP fell away beneath them. There was quick chill, and a sense of terror as they ejected from the plane, but they all knew what they had to do, and in just a moment, they were all doing it.

Ben had curled himself up in free-fall, and was plunging downward like a human meteor. Johnny had burst into flames in moments, incinerating the seat he'd been ejected in, and pretty soon, he was descending too. Reed's job, of course, was harder. With one hand, he immediately reached out and grabbed one of Sue's, then twisting his body into an angle that no flesh and blood contortionist could have duplicated, he slid his other arm and both legs free of the buckles holding him in place. In another moment, his other arm had reached out for Sue's, so that Reed had a plane seat threaded over one arm, as they remained in free fall. After a few more seconds, Reed allowed his first arm to release Sue's, also enabling the plane seat to slide free and rise upward above them. It wasn't, after all, falling quite as fast as they were, but that was about to change.

Once more, Reed took Sue's hands in his own, then his arms climbed rapidly up hers, until they reached her shoulder, and started to stretch out even further, wrapping around her shoulders, and under her arms as she maintained her solid grip on his. Then, at last, Reed changed the shape of the rest of his body, squashing his legs, torso, and even his head inward, until they became thin and flexible, stretching out over Sue's head, and that was when their descent started to slow.

From the start, Reed had known that his life, and the lives of his closest friends were going to be dangerous. The way they acquired their special powers, the fights they'd had with the Mole Man and the Submariner; it had all indicated that from then on, just by trying to do the decent thing with the abilities they'd been given, the Fantastic Four were going to wind up in some dangerous situations. Knowing that, Reed had anticipated ahead of time that their plane might be in danger of crashing at some point, and had devised a number of plans for a same evacuation of the four of them from it. The plan he'd used in that instance; in which he changed the shape of his body into that of a parachute, allowing himself and Susan to descend safely, was one he'd never had the chance to test out, and he was understandably pleased, and just a little surprised that it had worked so well.

Of course, it was only once they were descending slowly through the air, that Reed and Sue got the chance to look down at the location they'd be landing in, and it was a stunning and astonishing sight. Reed had somewhat expected that the high winds would have thrown the plane clear of the storm completely, but it seemed that somehow, they'd made it into the storm's very center. Sure enough, as the two of them looked around, the fog and high winds surrounded them on all sides; north, south, east, west and even covered them from overhead, but seemed to be contained somehow, like a barrier in those directions, around the island that stretched out beneath them.

Since the only direction not blocked off by the fog barrier was directly down, it was an inevitably short time before Reed and Sue were looking in amazement at the island that was underneath them. It lay in the ocean, several miles across, and yet, it was barren and rocky, as if nothing at all could have lived there since the very dawn of time. It was a mystery; no doubt about that. A barren island, secluded from the world within a barrier made of wind and fog, capable of destroying any plane, ship or rocket that tried to pass through it. Reed had to wonder as they descended, just what kind of being could live on such an island, and why they were so desperate to avoid contact with man.

However, Reed's thoughts were soon to be interrupted. Ben and Johnny seemed to have already reached the island uninjured, although Ben had left a large crater where he'd landed. In essence, Reed and Sue were alone, and the surrounding winds were loud enough that if Sue talked to him, Reed was the only one who would hear her.

"I don't like this, Reed."

"We'll be back on solid ground in a minute, Sue."

"That's not what I mean." Sue replied, "It's Ben. It's been bothering me ever since we left your lab. Reed, I don't like what this is doing to Ben."

"What?" Reed didn't understand for a moment, then slowly seemed to be arriving at a conclusion he didn't like.

"Sue, are you saying you want Ben to stay the way he is now, just so that he can be part of the Fantastic Four?"

"No." Sue replied, in a hurry to explain herself, "Of course not. I'm just saying that in all the time you've spent looking for some way to turn Ben back to the way he was, he's always seemed so single-minded and obsessed. Reed, big obsessions aren't healthy, especially not obsessions over your appearance. The circumstances were a little different, but there was a girl I knew in college who I couldn't stand to be around because she was obsessed with her appearance. She was totally convinced that she was hideous, wrinkled, fat, and all sorts of other things you wouldn't believe. Whenever we were in private, she'd complain about how guys never wanted to spent time with someone so ugly, but whenever she was about to get into a real relationship, it ended the moment he tried to tell her that she was beautiful. She just wouldn't listen. She usually wound up saying something like 'I don't want to be with a guy who likes the way I look. It makes me sick!'"

"But Ben's different." Reed objected, "He doesn't even look human at all."

"I never talked to that woman again after college." Sue continued, ignoring Reed's words, "She thought I'd abandoned her because she was so ugly, even after all the time we'd spent together, and I'm afraid that the same thing could be happening to Ben. To recognize that you have a problem and take action to try to solve it is a very good thing, and I'm glad Ben's being proactive and helping you try to find that solution, but I'm worried that he's obsessing over his appearance more than anything else, and if that's true, it's going to destroy him more than his actual looks ever could. I'm not going to try to deny that people react to the way you look, but the most important thing is the way you act. I don't want Ben to become ugly on the inside."

Reed felt like he needed to say something for a moment, but when he opened his mouth, he couldn't think of anything to say. It was a sad state of affairs, and in a little while, when Sue's feet touched down on the rocky surface of the island below them, and Reed swiftly uncoiled, and took a human shape again, both of them had fallen silent. Sue Storm had said her piece, and Reed Richards just wasn't sure what to say.

"Hey, big brain!" he heard Ben exclaim a moment later, "Your trap's shut. Don't see that often."

"Well, don't get used to it." Reed replied quickly, smiling over the friendly jibe. Then, a moment later, he'd turned back to Sue and said "I think you're worrying over nothing."

"I hope so, Reed." she replied, though she couldn't quite bring herself to smile.

* * *

A full exploration of the whole island would probably have taken hours, so Ben decided that the best bet would probably be to find the highest point on the island and get some idea of the land's formation. Reed didn't try to argue, though he knew that he and Sue had just gotten a prolonged look at the island from a spot high above it.

Reed quickly lengthened his legs, and had reached the highest point on the island in a single step, then stood, over a mile high, looking down at the island and memorizing every curve and crack in the land, until he saw something that he hadn't seen before; something that drove more tactical thoughts from his mind.

"There are two downed planes on this island." Reed exclaimed as he descended to within earshot of the others, "One's the remains of the JUMP, but the other one looks like a military jet. There could be somebody else on this island."

Within about five seconds, Reed and Johnny had reached the other plane, although Sue and Ben were a walk of about five minutes behind them. Sure enough, it was a wreck. That plane would never fly again, and it seemed that, like Reed and his friends, the pilot of the military jet had known enough to bail out when they'd penetrated the wind barrier. Reed couldn't tell where the pilot had landed, or which direction they'd gone, but he knew what he would have done in their place. If he'd survived the crash uninjured, he would have immediately gone in search of his plane, for the supplies if nothing else, then headed off from there. Sure enough, when Reed checked the plane, the first aid kit inevitably kept in military jets was missing, which probably meant that the pilot had taken it with them. The only question, then, was what had happened after that. Where had the pilot gone after taking the emergency equipment?

Reed and Johnny were still looking around for evidence of the pilot's fate when Ben and Sue arrived.

"Good timing." Reed said, "Ben, can you help us look for the pilot of this plane. They seem to have run off, and if they got off the island, there's a chance that..."

"What about the energy, stretch?" Ben asked a little irritably.

"Huh?" Reed asked. It took him a moment before he even realized what Ben was talking about, but when he did, he started to get worried.

"I understand how you feel, old friend, but at this point, we'll be lucky to even get away from here. We should focus on finding a way to get back home. Once we get there, I can work on some way to breach the wind barrier again, and we can come back with the scanner to search for the energy."

"Life ain't that long, stretch." Ben replied, "We hafta find the energy now. Then, if there's a way to get it out through the winds, we should use it. If there ain't no way, then we can go with your plan, but I ain't leaving this island until I'm sure I've done all I can."

Reed felt his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach, but what else could he do? What else could he say?

"Whatever the source of that energy was, it wasn't coming from any of the rocks on the surface of this island." Reed replied after his short hesitation, "That means it's hidden around here somewhere. For the moment, Ben, the best course would be to look for caves or cracks in the rock, large enough for a person to slip through, but don't go smashing up the island. There's a chance the energy source might be gaseous in nature, and if it is, then releasing it into the open air would probably render it inert."

"Come again?" Ben asked.

"Don't crack open the ground or you might let the energy fly away on us." Johnny muttered from nearby.

"Oh..." Ben said, "Well, why didn't ya just say so in the first place?"

Soon Ben was off again in search of anything that might resemble a cave or enclosure, but it was Sue who found one first.

Sue and Reed had begun using their powers in conjunction with one another; Sue making obstacles invisible to reveal what was behind them, as Reed scanned the island with his eyes from a great height again. At last, Sue Storm had found a cave, surprisingly close to the very center of the island.

"Reed, look." Sue said, keeping the hill between Reed and herself invisible, so that he could see it with his own eyes.

"Great job, Sue." Reed replied with a smile, and in only a moment, he'd reached the cave with long, stretching strides, and peered inside. Sure enough, it was no mere hollow in the rock, but a tunnel that went down into the ground a pretty good distance.

After telling Ben and Johnny about it, Reed waited by the cave entrance for everyone to arrive, before he started down inside. Ben followed him closely with Johnny and Sue behind him as the group descended into the tunnel.

At first, Reed had suspected that Johnny would need to lead them through the cave, using one of his hands to light the way, but as soon as the group had gone a few yards underground, the tunnel turned to one side, into an area which was, impossibly, lit from within, as if the whole place were a mining operation. There was one difference, however. Instead of mining equipment, the room that opened up before them was full of large, glass tubes, and small machines that were spread out across the ceiling, with wires and electric lights along the edges. In the bottom of each of the glass tubes was what looked like a closed vent, and each was open in the front, with a door permitting access. There were eight tubes in all, and of those eight, only one was closed. It seemed to be filled with some kind of aqua-colored vapor, that obscured everything else within the tube. The hallway beyond that chamber turned to both the left and right, but it was that one tube that most caught the attention of Ben Grimm and Reed Richards as they stepped into the room.

"What's the word, Big Brain?" Ben asked with a grin on his face.

"I'm not a betting man, Ben, but if I was, I'd say this is probably that energy source we've been looking for."

"Thought so." Ben replied, "Let's find somethin' to put it in."

"Huh?" Once again, Reed was startled by the choice that Ben was making, "Ben, with all of these machines around, I'm willing to bet that this substance, whatever it is, already belongs to someone; maybe even someone like the Mole Man."

"Stretch, we came all this way and got the JUMP into a wreck because we need this stuff. Now that it's right here in front of me, don't try to tell me I can't have it."

Sue hissed a little under her breath. Reed had noticed, however, and didn't need her to remind him. It was just like she'd said. Ben was obsessing, and forgetting everything else. Reed carefully took a deep breath, and replied to his friend, trying to get him to calm down.

"I'm not trying to tell you you can't have the vapors in there, Ben, but we should be prudent in acquiring them. If they do belong to someone, we should look for them, and ask them for permission. It's not as if we have nothing to offer them in exchan..."

"Ben, look!" Sue exclaimed just then, however, in surprise. Ben had turned to face Reed as they'd been talking, but when Sue had said that, he turned back to face the tube again, and saw what she was talking about. Sue Storm had started using her powers to make the vapors within the tube invisible, and as she'd done that, the group could see that inside the tube, beyond the strange gases that were in there, was the figure of a blond woman, unconscious and floating upright in midair There was no way of knowing how long she'd been in the tube, but Reed had his suspicions that she was the pilot of the other plane on the surface; suspicions that were soon validated as Ben Grimm remarked in awe "Carol..."

"Carol?" Reed asked, "Do you know this woman?"

"Best pilot I ever saw when I was in the Air Force.. I thought she was working near the west coast, though..." Ben said quickly, "Plus, she looks a bunch younger than the last time I saw her. That gas, whatever it is, don't matter anymore. I gotta get her outta there."

Sue had started to grin a little, until she realized that the gas might be toxic in nature; something that had jumped right to the front of Reed Richard's thoughts, as he exclaimed "Wait, Ben!"

But Ben Grimm wasn't about to wait. In only a moment, he'd wrenched open the door on the front of the glass chamber, and just like that, the vents at the chamber's bottom closed, and Ben Grimm saw something unlike anything he'd ever seen before. As soon as the door had opened, the remaining gas, instead of spilling out into the room, had traveled in the direction of Carol, and seemed almost to pass directly through her skin, into her body. Ben stared in amazement as her whole body began to glow for a moment, then whatever machines were keeping her suspended in midair were deactivated, and she slumped forward into Ben's rocky arms.

"Carol?" Ben asked gently as she lay against him, "Carol, you okay?"

Sure enough, however, the woman that Ben had called Carol was slowly, groggily starting to wake up. Her eyes fluttered as she opened them for the first time since she'd emerged from the tube, and the first sight that she saw was the monstrous, orange Thing standing right in front of her.

"There we go." Ben said with a smile, "You gave me a scare there, Caro-oooph!"

It seemed that living on the West Coast as she did, Carol hadn't heard of the Fantastic Four, because her reaction upon seeing Ben standing over her was to dart awake, and strike him in the face with one of her hands, and impossibly, as the blow connected, Ben Grimm flew backwards across the chamber, shattering two of the glass enclosures on that side of the room.

"Wh-whoa..." Carol muttered, as Johnny started to power up his flame, and Sue turned herself invisible. Reed had been behind Ben when Carol had hit him, but the impact hadn't injured his rubbery body at all, and pretty soon, he and Ben were back on their feet as Carol looked in awe at her own hands.

"Okay, Carol. You asked for it!" Ben exclaimed, getting to his feet, "Don't know how ya got so strong, but nobody slugs Aunt Petunia's favorite nephew across his rocky mug and winds up feelin' glad they did. It's clobberin' time!"

"Huh?" Carol asked, suddenly paying attention to the Thing once again, "Aunt Petunia? Wait a minute..."

But Ben wasn't about to wait. Quickly, he charged forward, driving one fist downward, towards Carol's midsection and the other at her face. She seemed disoriented for a moment, but reacted quickly, grabbing both of his fists in her own, and then the two stood opposite one another in the center of the room, each struggling to match the strength of the other, and yet, they were totally equal. Carol, however, looked amazed, and a little worried as she held Ben's much larger hands in her own, small ones.

"Ben?" she asked, astonished, "Benjamin J. Grimm? Is that you?"

"'Course it's me." Ben replied, "What? Ya mistook me fer the president?"

Soon, both Carol and Ben had loosened their grips on one another, and Carol looked horrified and sympathetic, as she carefully ran one hand along Ben Grimm's rocky face.

"What... what happened to you?" she asked, "You're so... so..."

"Orange and rocky." Ben replied, providing her with a tactful alternative to the word "ugly," "Yeah. I guess ya must not have heard. Alien accident or something. What about you, though? I mean, you're a whole lot stronger than ya were the last time I saw ya. What happened? Been jugglin' trucks while I was out?"

Carol wasn't sure what to say to that, so instead, she walked over to the other side of the room, towards the tunnel that they'd all come in by, and drove her fist as hard as she could into the stone.

Cracks spread through the whole tunnel as that wall caved in on itself, collapsing in large chucks of bedrock into a pile that soon covered all but a small section of the way in. They could probably still get out that way, but only with a lot of digging.

Slowly, Carol drew her fist back again, awe and amazement all over her face.

"I don't believe it." Carol muttered, "I've never... I mean... I can't... wow."

"That was pretty much my reaction when I discovered my powers too." Sue Storm replied, making herself visible again.

"It must have something to do with those gasses." Reed said, his legs still working to regain their previous thickness, "Maybe they change the body of a human being, and accelerate the natural process of their evolution, or maybe it's not a gas at all, but a network of microscopic computers that alter genes under the guidance of an intelligent supercomputer. Whatever it is, it's not like anything I've ever seen before."

The whole time that Reed talked, Johnny's hands were still on fire, and the larger part of Sue's legs were still invisible, even as Reed twisted his rubbery limbs in ways that no other human could have, just to make sure that everything was still in good working order. All four of them looked strange and unnatural, which made things even more confusing when, a moment later, the natives arrived, alerted to their presence by the large-scale commotion they'd been making in both Ben and Carol's short fight and the noise of the collapsing tunnel.

The man who charged into that room at that point was about the same size as Ben, but instead of being covered in rocky, orange skin, he was covered in fur, and his teeth and nails were much larger and sharper than normal, human teeth. In fact, he looked something like a classic depiction of Bigfoot, except that he was carrying a long staff in one hand, with a crystal-like orb at the end. He looked horrified.

"What have you done to the chambers of maturity?" he demanded, "Whose idea was this? And what is that human doing here?"

He'd pointed to Carol when he said that, though he barely cast the rest of them as much as a glance. None of them looked totally human except for her, but none of them completely understood the situation they'd found themselves in either. Reed quickly tried to size up the situation, and gain more information with a question.

"Are humans truly that unwelcome here?"

"To bring a human into Attilan is the highest of all crimes. Was it you who did this?"

That told Reed all he needed to know. Ben and Carol both seemed about to speak, but Reed quickly held up one hand to silence them. He needed to talk to the guard.

"This human came among us of her own volition."

"That isn't possible." the guard replied with a scoff, "No human has the power to..."

Taking that as her cue, Carol grabbed one of the fallen rocks in her hands, and brought those hands together with a crunch, crushing the rock to dust with ease. Ben grinned as the guard took a step back, raising his weapon, but Reed was soon standing between Carol and the guard. He didn't know what the weapon was designed to do, but he didn't want to take the chance that Carol would be vulnerable to it, in spite of the strange powers she'd acquired.

"Humans have become far more powerful than we suspected over the last hundred years." Reed said, "She claims to wish us no direct harm, however."

"Uh... I come in peace... Take me to your leader?" Carol said, not sure what else to say. Ben chuckled a little when she said that, though. Carol wasn't a joker like him, but at least she had some sense of humor.

"I must report this to the king." the guard replied, "Wait here, and do not let the human leave this room."

Then he was off at a sprint down the hallways beyond that room, but it didn't take long for Ben to speak up shortly after he'd left.

"What was that all about?"

"Obviously, we've found ourselves in some kind of superhuman society under the surface of this island. They're lead by a king, and they're isolationists from the rest of mankind. They also haven't made contact with the human race recently. I think the only reason he treated us with respect is that none of us except Carol look totally human."

"We gotta get outta here, anyways." Ben said, "I didn't like the look of that guy's staff."

"Plus, they know I'm a human." Carol noted, "What if their king tries to have me executed?"

"We're not going to let them hurt you, Carol," Reed reassured her, "although, with your strength, I'm not entirely certain they could, but I want to find out more about this underground society, and their ways and laws. How long were you in that tube for?"

"I... I don't know." Carol replied, "I was out cold for most of it."

"What happened to you?" Ben asked, "Did somebody knock you out and toss you into the tube or something?"

Carol, however, looked a little sad and ashamed when Ben asked that question, and then looked away, before she dared to say even a word about it.

"Actually, it was my fault." Carol said, "I was sent to investigate the strange radio and energy disturbances coming from this island, and I had to get closer to the mists surrounding it to do that. When I got too close, my plane was caught up in the fierce winds, and I crashed on the island, ejecting just in time."

"Once I got my bearings, I took my first aid kit from the back of the plane, and headed off to explore the island. Pretty soon, I found this cave, and these tubes, and I was looking around one of them. I stepped inside, and the door slammed shut by itself. I couldn't get it open again, then that gas started coming in from below, and the next thing I knew, you were there."

"In that case, it seems likely that those mists, whatever they were, are responsible for giving you such tremendous strength." Reed replied, "We still know so little about them, however, that we have no way of knowing whether your powers will be permanent or temporary, or even whether or not you'll mutate further as time goes on. If those mists can make you as strong as Ben, who knows what else they can do?"

Suddenly, two sets of footsteps were heard, approaching in a hurry from the hallway at the end of the chamber, and yet, it seemed that the owners of the footsteps were picking up the rear of the small party that arrived a moment later.

The group consisted of four people, none of whom looked entirely human, and only two of whom were actually walking with their feet. The first to ascend the stairs was a tall, well-muscled man wearing a black jumpsuit, with the shapes of blue lightning bolts woven into it at the shoulders. However, as strange as that was, it wasn't the strangest thing about the man. A small, metal object closely resembling a tuning fork appeared to be embedded in his forehead, and it vibrated intensely as he floated through the air towards the Fantastic Four.

The second member of the approaching group seemed to have waves of thick, red hair, which flowed down over her shoulders, arms, legs, and even her feet. She had it wrapped around herself like a cloak, so that it was impossible to tell virtually anything else about her, but to guage from her face, Reed judged that she was probably quite lovely. What was truly unusual about her was that her hair, in addition to surrounding her totally, also seemed to move according to her will, and unless Reed was having hallucinations, it seemed to have deposited her on the ground, after having carried her all the way down the hall in the shape of a series of legs.

Sure enough, however, two more figures arrived soon after that, each traveling on foot. One was the guard that Reed had seen before, and the other was a smaller man; no taller than Johnny Storm. He was dressed in a green uniform with armor along the backs of his hands, his chest, hips and over his ankles. He also wore a helmet. All of his armor was clearly made of metal, and painted green in a way that didn't dull in any way the sheen of the metal itself, but like his friends, the man also had a visible trait that made him look different from ordinary humans. The edges of his eyes seemed to twist around to the sides of his head, as if in an attempt to allow him to see things in a full one-hundred and eighty degrees.

Reed found himself feeling worry over the new arrivals, despite the fact that they bore no dangerous-looking weapons. It was conceivable that even the powers of the Fantastic Four would be insufficient to save them if that superhuman society posed a threat, which meant that Reed needed to tread carefully, and do his best to be diplomatic.

However, Reed was almost totally certain that he couldn't make a good first impression without knowing the names of any of the people who stood before him. It was probably fortunate, therefore, that the woman with the long, red hair spoke first.

"Black Bolt wishes to know the circumstances under which you found this human."

Reed decided, for the moment, that the best bet would be honesty.

"She was entrapped in the mist tube and unconscious." Reed said, assuming the man; Black Bolt, to be mute, and to be their king, from what he'd just heard, "I'm afraid the tube suffered some damage while we were liberating her."

"That is unfortunate, but it is of little consequence." the woman replied, "Its repairs will be complete within a day. What troubles us far more is that a human has succeeded in venturing into Attilan, despite the many precautions we've taken to prevent that very thing. What's more, we have no way of determining how long she was exposed to the Terragen Mists. The extent of her powers could even exceed my own."

As the woman spoke, the shorter man in the green armor approached Black Bolt from behind, and began whispering into his ear. Black Bolt nodded with a smile in response.

"Black Bolt is pleased with your honesty about the discovery of the human." the woman said, "However, he is also aware that you are not who you seem to be. In spite of your strange appearances, we suspect the four of you to be human as well."

Reed sighed. So the man in the armor was a lie-detector, among other things. It was probably just as well. Reed had a much easier time telling the truth than lying.

"In that case," Reed said, his own expression turning very serious, "there's a great deal more information you deserve. Everybody power down."

Johnny had seemed confident in his ability to torch everyone else in the room, but regardless, he didn't look all that disappointed when Reed said that, and in a moment, Reed's body returned to normal proportions, Sue became entirely visible, and Johnny's flames faded away. Black Bolt seemed unsure of whether or not to be pleased, as his expression wavered between a smile and a serious glare, at last settling on a calm, detached look.

"Are you in a position to speak for your people?" the woman in the red hair asked, "Can you tell us what you humans are doing here in Attilan, and how you came to get past our barrier?"

"Yes." Reed replied, "I can tell you all of that and more."

"Then, for the moment, you and your companions will not be treated as trespassers." the woman said, "Come to the court of Attilan, and there, we'll discuss this further."

"Wait..." Reed said, confused and unsure how to proceed, "May I at least know your names before I...?"

"If you have further questions, you may ask them at the court of Attilan." the woman barked a bit harshly, "We will all be there."

Naturally, that answer didn't satisfy Reed, but he wasn't ready to take firmer action until he understood what they were really up against. Even then, he would have hesitated to use force, when patience would do just as well. Motioning carefully to the others, Reed followed behind the strange people, as they led the five humans down the hallways, and further in, to the center of Attilan.

* * *

The group traveled for about three minutes down hallways and stairs, before the path they were taking opened up into a larger cavern, and what a cavern it was. They must have traveled a great distance in such a short time, because although the cavern stretched down below them into a large city, full of buildings and designs cut from the very rock itself, it also towered over them to an enormous, flat ceiling, which looked larger than it was, because images and lights seemed to stream down from the cavern ceiling, lighting up the city of those strange people, as if it were broad daylight. The images, mostly, were of blue skies and calm weather, although Reed knew for a face that a ferocious, dome-shaped wind contained the entire island. The sky, then, had to be an illusion, which made some sense. Whoever those people were, they had obviously used what they called "Terragen Mists" to give themselves amazing and seemingly-random superhuman powers. It was conceivable that one of them would have the power to create visual illusions and bend light, though it was still a strange series of circumstances. Still, if, as Reed suspected, the Terragen Mist was the one power source on Earth capable of changing Ben Grimm's appearance back to normal, then the transformation of those people was really no stranger than their own, and in fact, they might be exactly the same. He needed more information before drawing too many conclusions, however.

One thing, though, Reed was certain about. Whatever powers those people had acquired, they'd been immensely helpful in construction. The descent into the city was a long one, and once they'd reached the city's base, they needed to walk for over a mile before they reached the building at the center of town; a massive palace made of beautiful rock formations, inlaid with precious gemstones. Reed was amazed. It wasn't far enough underground to attract the attention of someone like the Mole Man, but the whole place was a serene, beautiful city made entirely of minerals, and other substances found in rock. It was amazing and wonderful. Sue, Carol and Johnny couldn't stop staring at the enormous buildings, and even Ben seemed impressed.

Of course it was impressive. It almost distracted Reed from the urgency and potential danger of their situation, but what really ended up distracting him were the people living there. Each and every one looked distinctly different; an extra eye here, or a fin there... wings, a tail, jet black skin, bright red, orange like Ben, or with fur. Some were even shaped like creatures of legend, with horns, hooves or no legs at all, simply floating in the air like a ghost, and no two looked exactly alike, but they all had one thing in common. Not one of them could have been mistaken for a human being.

At last, the five human visitors to Attilan were led into the building in the very center of the city; the largest of all, and inside, they found another, smaller town, filled with even more people, who were just as diverse in appearance and apparent special abilities as the ones outside. In the center of that town was another large spire, reaching up to the very top of the building, and in just a few more minutes of walking, they were inside the spire.

The spire itself was deceptively large. From the entrance to the city, it had looked very thin because of its height, but from close up, the group could see that it was, in fact, as thick as a large house, and contained first an entry hall, while they were lead through, followed by a larger chamber with stairs on either side, leading up to higher rooms within the spire; perhaps even residential quarters for Black Bolt and the other royalty, assuming that there were other royals.

Within that larger chamber were seven large seats. There was one central throne and two smaller once beside it. On the left side of those three were two sturdy-looking stone chairs, and on the right, another such chair, and a blue pillow, large enough for a cow to lay down on.

The five human visitors watched in amazement as Black Bolt took his seat on the central throne, still not opening his mouth for even a second, though he seemed unworried. The woman in the red hair took a seat beside him, on one of the smaller thrones, and the man in the green armor seated himself in one of the sturdy, stone chairs. When they'd done that, the guard took his leave.

"There are other members of the royal family not present at the moment." the woman with the red hair said. Despite her seated position, her hair still covered her body completely, and stretched out behind her like the waving tentacles of a octopus, as she continued, "They will be arriving shortly, and we can begin. Black Bolt wishes us all to take part in this matter, because it is the first issue of foreign affairs that we have needed to confront in many years."

"Please forgive me, miss." Reed said, feeling a little impatient, "I don't mean to be impolite, but I still have yet to hear your name, or the name of your friend in the armor, and I'd be most interested in learning how you communicate with Black Bolt, since it's quite evident that he's unable to speak."

The woman in the red hair still seemed a little suspicious, but she was pleased by Reed's attempts at courtesy, and responded after a short pause to consider her words.

"I am Medusa; wife of Black Bolt, and queen of Attilan. That is Karnak; close cousin of Black Bolt, and minister of defense for Attilan. You humans have come to Attilan; homeland of the inhumans, and yes, as you've noticed, Black Bolt cannot use speech for communication, but the protrusion on his forehead channels vibrations in the air, and sends them back out in the form of quiet sound waves, which can be deciphered by those dedicated enough to the task, such as myself and the other members of Black Bolt's family."

"Inhumans... Amazing..." Reed muttered for a moment, "If you don't mind my asking, who are the inhumans, and how did you come to discover the Terragen Mists that gave you such incredible powers?"

At that point, Medusa's smile faded, but it was more with boredom than anger.

"If I waited for the others to arrive before explaining that to you, it would only bore them." Medusa said, "They've each heard the tale a hundred times over. Therefore, I will answer that question."

* * *

"Long ago," Medusa began, "in a time before fire or bows had been discovered by the people of your ancient civilizations, our ancestors were human beings, much like them. We lived in fear of starvation, or wild animals, and of a sudden storm. However, unlike other tribes, we did not live in fear of one another. We were a different type of man. As the Neanderthal had faded, and the Cromagnon took his place around the Mediterranean sea, we took the place of Neanderthals here, because we had something that they did not; the perfect, unshakable will to sacrifice our own lives on behalf of one another if the need arose, and it frequently did, in those days. It was what defined us; the will to do right for others of our group before our own considerations, and it led us to victory over the more brutish Neanderthal cave men."

"At that time, the world's land masses were much closer together, and our island was within swimming distance of the mainland. Our ancestors saw the Cromagnons spreading across the world, and realized the folly that they represented. So much potential for intelligent thought rested in their minds, but so little love for one another. Some even became cannibals, but our weapons were not equal to theirs, and although we worked well together, we lost many battles against them, and began to hide in caves for our own defense. I'm almost certain that our people would have perished in those caves, as the Neanderthals did, if the hand of the almighty had not intervened to save us from extinction."

"I believe that there is a force; a being above all others, who guides the hand of fate with love for all that is good. I can think of no other explanation for the twist of fate that led our people to dig in precisely the right direction, deep in that cave. to find the Terragen Mists. Only six of our people were left alive on the day that we dug our way into the caverns below this very island, but in doing so, they were exposed to the Terragen Mists, and changed forever."

"Many theories circulate through our people as to what, precisely, the mists are. Some believe them to be the very life-force of the universe itself; an endless source of power upon which all of creation depends. There are other theories, but in truth, we do not know what the mists are; only that they exist, and that on that day, and ever since then, those mists gave to us the power to vanquish our enemies and take back our land. The cost of that power, however, was that no inhuman would ever look entirely human again. Always, there was some trait or feature that distinguished us from the other human beings. Because of that, we could never again interact with humans, even once they started learning to build towns and vehicles. Humans would never have agreed to share the world with a people so different from themselves."

"For a while, the inhumans survived in the wilderness, noticed by the humans only as legends; stories of monsters, giants or daemons who haunted the lands beyond the safety of the human communities. One day, however, a boy was born whose inhuman ability was vast intelligence, and with his guidance, we were able to tunnel underground, and use our powers to found the city of Attilan, separating it from the main masses of land. He died of old age before Attilan could be finished, but he knew of his own mortality, and left behind plans for the construction of Attilan. It has been finished for nearly one hundred years; since the last time that we attempted contact with mankind. Our culture has grown and thrived in such a pleasing and accommodating environment, artificial though it may be, and our discontent with our unusual appearances are a thing of the past. In fact, no inhuman has so much as wanted to look human for many hundreds of years, since before Attilan's construction began."

* * *

As Medusa wrapped up her story, she seemed pleased to have such an attentive audience, but her expression of delight faded quickly with the next sentence she spoke.

"Black Bolt will have questions to ask you next, but the other members of Attilan's royal family have heard his call, and will be here in moments. When they arrive, I will ask those questions for him. He thinks it would be best for all of us to hear the answers that you will give."

Reed nodded once. He could feel that Ben was getting a little antsy with so much talking about things that he couldn't quite understand. It might be better to just wait until the meeting was over, before trying to communicate what was going on in more easily-understood terms. In a moment, however, Ben leaned over one of Reed's shoulders and started whispering into his ear.

"Stretch, this is boring me to tears."

"Suck it up, old friend." Reed replied with a grin, "Remember, this is an official function. You've been to those before, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I have." Ben replied, a little dissatisfied still, "'Cept there's usually a buffet at those."

"It won't be too much longer, Ben." Reed replied, "Just hang in there. We don't want to get into any fights."

The others seemed to have heard Reed's advice to Ben, because nobody did much moving or speaking for the next minute and a half, and at the end of those ninety seconds, there was a brilliant flash of light in the center of the Attilan court, and out of that flash, came three figures of relatively human proportions, and another creature that, before the flash of light faded, might have easily been mistaken for a full-grown bull.

As the bright flash of light disappeared, however, it became much easier to see the four beings who'd just appeared. The most eye-catching one was the large, four-legged creature. Like Black Bolt, it had a metal tuning fork embedded in its forehead, but it was not a bull, but a large, brown, heavily-muscled bulldog that was the same size as a bull. Its tongue alone looked about the size of a man's torso, and it wasn't too hard to imagine such a large animal biting a person's head off, except that it seemed rather docile in the hands of the young lady who stood by its side, stroking it in the fondest way under its chin.

The girl, like Medusa, had long, red hair, though it was only of a reasonable length; reaching down to her waist, around her ears, held in place by a large, black loop that could be seen easily when she turned her head, and seemed to be made from some kind of plastic. She was dressed in a gold-colored outfit with black stripes along it at the waist, and along her gloves and boots, and she had long, pointed ears. She seemed quite proud of those ears, as she'd taken great care to leave them out in the open air, where everyone could see them. She could easily have covered them with her hair, as Medusa did to her ears, but she'd chosen not to do that.

Behind the girl stood two more figures, each looking very much different from a human being in obvious ways. The largest and broadest of the group, with the exception of the dog, looked like a man with hooves like those of an ox, and two small horns on either side of his forehead. He wore large bracers, and light, leather-like armor along his arms and chest, and a circlet made of metal over the middle of his head, and he looked like he would make a very effective bodyguard for anyone; human or inhuman.

The last of the new arrivals was roughly Reed's size and build, but his chest was bare, and his body was completely covered in green scales. He had no hair, and a fin protruded from the top of his head. He also had smaller fins protruding from the backs of his arms and legs. He was dressed only in a deep blue pair of shorts.

"The taller one is Gorgon; the high general of our military." Medusa explained as the new arrivals headed for their seats, "The girl is my younger sister Crystal, who is our representative among the barrier maintenance teams. The other man is Triton; our intelligence chief. Their canine companion is Lockjaw, who has come to be considered a member of our family in his own sense."

As Medusa had introduced them, Crystal had taken a seat on the small throne next to Black Bolt. Reed could tell without even having to be told that if Black Bolt and Medusa were to die, Crystal would be the next in line for the throne. Gorgon and Triton each took seats on the sturdy-looking chairs, while Lockjaw, not surprisingly, lay down on the pillow.

"From this point on," Medusa said in the same formal voice she'd used up to that point, "Black Bolt will conduct the meeting himself using me as interpreter. Do not look at me when you speak, and do not ask me questions. Treat me as if my voice is his voice and address yourself to Black Bolt alone."

Reed simply nodded, and stepped forward into the room, motioning for the others to stay back. In a moment, he was staring with some trepidation into the eyes of Black Bolt, who looked deeply curious.

"Before we begin," Medusa said, "I wish to know your names."

"My name is Doctor Reed Richards." Reed replied to Black Bolt, then pointing out the others, one at a time, "This is Susan Storm and Johnny Storm, who are brother and sister, and Benjamin Grimm, a good friend of mine, and his friend Carol Danvers."

"Then you will represent your group, as I represent mine." Medusa said.

"Yes." Reed agreed with a nod, "I will speak on their behalf."

"Now tell me..." Medusa continued, "How did you cross the barrier and enter Attilan?"

"We detected your location using a new type of scanner that I designed." Reed explained, "We flew here and entered through the top of the barrier, but our plane was destroyed in the process, I'm afraid."

Black Bolt looked confused when Reed said that, however.

"Humans have devices that allow them to fly now?" Black Bolt asked through Medusa, "This complicates things. If you came through the barrier, others may come as well."

"Our technology is more advanced than most..." Reed admitted, "But still, in a few years, I wouldn't be surprised if you received more human visitors."

"Then there is a problem, I'm afraid." Black Bolt replied, "A problem that cannot simply be solved by imprisoning a few people, or integrating you into our society."

"I take that to mean that you don't wish to have contact with the outside world." Reed deduced.

Black Bolt simply looked at Reed sadly for a few seconds, before Medusa spoke up again.

"Tell me a few things about your 'outside world.' Is there still prejudice against those with different appearances? Do your people still obsess over image?"

"Well..." Reed said, "In some circles, people do worry about appearance, or even..."

However, Black Bolt held up one hand for silence, then said through his interpreter, "What of the cultural distinctiveness of your nations? Do the nations of the world still live by such different rules? Is each still governed differently?"

"Well, actually, there's a lot of democracy going around right now." Reed replied, "Most major nations have learned to accept it into their society, because it yields such great benefits."

Black Bolt nodded, though his expression remained sour.

"Why did you personally seek us out?" Medusa asked by proxy, "Did you hear of us? Were you simply exploring?"

"Actually, we had no idea your society even existed." Reed admitted, "We were just looking for an energy signature that I thought could be used to change Ben to look more... more human, like he used to. I've come to suspect that the substance you call the Terragen Mist is that very energy."

Reed had answered all of the questions quickly, honestly and as diplomatically as he could, and saw Black Bolt glance over at Karnak for a moment after the questions were all answered. Karnak simply gave Black Bolt a nod, and the king of the inhumans turned back to face Reed again.

"Unfortunately," Black Bolt indirectly said, "the answers that you have given me have not made my next decision any easier. When I heard that a powerful human had arrived in Attilan, I expected to find some barbarian bearing weapons, and obsessed with conquest, but it seems that not all humans are as barbaric as those that lead you. You, in particular, are intelligent, and have reservations about the course your society has taken. Still, there are a few among my people who would work against the common good, if they were allowed the freedom to do so. There are a few deviations in every species, it seems. I would wish not to do harm to one such as you, Reed Richards, but I must consider the fate of Attilan and my people before my own wishes."

Reed wasn't sure what, if anything to say, so he simply nodded once, and prepared for Black Bolt's verdict.

"From everything that you have told me, Reed Richards, your society is completely and utterly incompatible with ours. You obsess over looking good by human standards, while we pride ourselves in looking very different from humans. Your nations have spread their form of government to every place that they have touched, with no respect for the cultural diversity of other people's countries, and even though your motives in coming here were generous ones, full of love for your friend, they were still formed from vanity, selfishness and greed. There is too much about you and your people that is still barbaric and savage. I will not allow the humans to make contact with us, much less infiltrate our way of life, and you certainly will never touch the sacred Terragen Mists. I am truly sorry that it needed to happen this way, Reed Richards, but you and your friends will not be allowed to leave this place for the rest of your lives."

* * *

To be continued...


	11. Issue 11: Only Human Part 2

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 11

"Only Human"

Part 2 of 2

* * *

As soon as Black Bolt had decreed that they couldn't leave Attilan, Reed knew there was going to be trouble. Ben was irritable as it was, and he obviously wasn't just going to agree stay there for the rest of his life. He wanted to regain his human appearance and rejoin society like a human being again. Even Reed himself, curious though he was about those strange people, would never willingly submit to become their prisoner. He quickly held one hand up, to warn Ben and the others not to fly off the handle, and spoke again, hoping to convince Black Bolt to reconsider.

"Just a moment ago, sir," Reed said, trying to be polite, "you told us that keeping your people isolated from mankind was essential to the survival of your culture and way of life. I can understand why you would value those things so highly. Tradition can be very important, particularly in the case of values and morals, but you also said that the problem couldn't be solved by imprisoning us, since human technology is already advanced enough to penetrate your barrier. Are you changing your mind about that?"

Black Bolt quickly shook his head, and Medusa interpreted for him as he did so.

"Even if I could be certain that all five of you could be sworn to secrecy about our existence, and I can't be completely certain of that, one of you might break your word accidentally, or mention us in passing. The problem that I am trying to solve first is the problem of what to do with you. The problem of what to do about man's technology is a separate one."

Reed could tell that he was losing ground in his ability to negotiate. Although he had some experience talking to powerful people, politics and diplomacy weren't really his forte. He started wishing, after only a short time, that he'd asked Sue to represent them. As the head of a multinational corporation, she had much more experience at getting her point across to the mighty than Reed did. Still, that opportunity was gone. Reed had to make the best choice he could.

"Are you certain there's nothing we can do to convince you to let us go free?" Reed asked, feeling tired and alone as the question escaped his lips.

"The problem is more than just how to stop you from telling others that we exist." Black Bolt tried to explain, "For centuries, my people have used the sacred terragen mists to grant us strange powers. In exchange, we appear entirely different from any human or animal in the rest of the world. Never before has a human been exposed to the mists, and it disappoints me to see that even after prolonged exposure, your human friend looks no different from other humans."

"What do you mean?" Reed asked, worry growing in his heart, "What does Carol's appearance have to do with anything?"

"We inhumans depend upon our abnormal appearances to identify ourselves to one another. Though we try to avoid contact with the outside world, any inhuman could recognize any other inhuman, because we each look so different from ordinary human beings. In some ways, our appearances and powers determine the whole course of our lives here in Attilan. It was, for instance, my powers that determined my role as leader shortly after I was exposed to the mist. Our bodies are sculpted to do fantastic things, and our society is carefully designed, so that each inhuman will perform the function for which they are most suited. The fact that you humans have not developed a similar system disappoints me still further."

"Had Carol Danvers been transformed by the mists, I might have been able to convince the people that she was no different from other inhumans, but I fear that they will not be able to fully accept her the way that she now is. None of your other friends have been exposed to the mists, but each of you can change to appear at least a bit different from humans, and so, you might be easier to accept in inhuman society. Carol, however, will be interpreted by my people as a symbol of just how dangerous humans are; that they can break into our stronghold and take our most sacred treasures. She was exposed to the mists for so long, that her powers could well rival even the strongest among us. Though I know that she will not truly be accepted by our culture, I cannot allow her to leave, because if she does, she takes with her the fruits of our sacred mists, and perhaps its secrets as well, if humans are as clever as you say."

"Then we're expected to be imprisoned here." Reed noted, a slight edge forming in his voice.

"We do have prisons, to contain dangerous criminals," Black Bolt replied, "but I would rather not confine you to any of those. You will be given the chance to prove yourselves instead. Each of you will be given homes of your own within the city, relatively close to one another, and you will share the benefits of inhuman society on the same level that my family and I do. In short, you will be treated like ambassadors. The only drawback is that you cannot be allowed to leave. In the meantime, you have my word that we will work hard towards developing new barriers and means of concealment, to prevent your people from making this mistake again. I do not wish for any more people than necessary to be separated from their homes."

"I'm sorry, sir, but there are things you aren't aware of." Reed objected, "You see, on the surface, my friends and I have been referred to as the Fantastic Four. We're considered to be well-respected champions of our people. Our work up to this point has saved people's lives, and inspired them in the things they do in their own work. We've gotten letters from people who said that we made them feel like life had a purpose again; people who were so depressed, worrying that mankind wouldn't even try to keep making progress and accomplishing better things, and that the suffering they go through in their lives would never become obsolete. By showing them that there are people willing to make a difference in the world, and by continuing to try to make progress in technology and exploration, we gave people hope for the future. What if that hope was what our people really needed? What if you're robbing them of that by keeping us here?"

"I'm sorry." Black Bolt replied after taking only a moment to consider Reed's words, "The safety of my people has to be my first concern. I cannot compromise it, no matter what it costs you or the people you care about."

"So there's really nothing I can do to change your mind." Reed realized aloud, "I'm sorry. I was afraid that might be the case."

Just then, Reed Richard's left foot started expanding, a hundred small air pockets forming just under the skin as he stretched his body outward, and in just a moment, he'd clamped that foot down hard on the marble floor with a clap, and exactly as he'd intended, the other four behind him took that as their signal. Immediately, a wall of fire rose up between the humans and the inhuman royals, and Reed signaled the others to follow him out by the same route they'd used to enter the spire. In only a moment, however, there was the sound of crashing from behind them. Crystal; the girl with the pointed ears seemed to have caused some of the marble tiles to cover the fire, extinguishing it, and yet, for some reason, the inhumans didn't seem to be hurrying in pursuit. Reed couldn't help but find that worrying.

As Reed and his group hurried to the edge of Attilan, to return to the surface of the island once more, where the high winds still raged, Carol and Johnny seemed to be slowing down deliberately to let the rest of them catch up. They didn't, after all, want to get separated, but Reed had quickly become convinced that Carol's powers amounted to more than simple strength alone.

Strangely, their escape to the island's top was a relatively simple matter, as they ran into no inhuman interference to speak of, and only had to worry about charging through the small mound of boulders that concealed the exit; a charge led by Ben and Carol. Once on the surface of the island, they kept running until they reached its edge, where they could see the wind barrier no more than a few dozen yards away from shore. Reed could already tell from what they'd all seen that the barrier was generated by some power or device of the Inhumans, but like all things, it had its weakness.

"There's only one way off the island." Reed said, as soon as they reached the shore, "I have to transform my body into an enclosure so that we can travel underwater. If we can swim a good distance down and travel far enough through the ocean to get past the wind barrier, making it back to shore should be less of an issue."

"What about the mist, stretch?" Ben asked.

"You can't be serious." Reed exclaimed, "Ben, we don't even have time to talk about that. We have to get out of here now!"

"Then what, big guy?" Ben replied angrily, "We wait until we've got some new weapon and try to blast open a whole race of super-guys to get at the mists? Even I can tell that ain't an option. If we want the mists, we've gotta get 'em while they're off guard."

"Ben, we can't do that. The whole city's probably on high alert. I wouldn't be too surprised if they'd found a way to recapture us already. Our priority has to be getting away safely. Once we've done that, we can plan for..."

However, the argument was cut short as a flash of light forced them all to squint, or look away. When it faded, Lockjaw and Black Bolt had reappeared in front of the Fantastic Four, blocking their path to the shore. In just a moment, the giant bulldog was gone in yet another bright flash, and Black Bolt was alone, standing against them.

"This is our shot, stretch!" Ben exclaimed, rushing forward, "If we get their king, we can get the mist!"

However, as Ben Grimm drove his fist hard in the direction of Black Bolt's face, his enemy responded quickly, the tuning fork on his head giving off strong vibrations as he grabbed the Thing's fist in mid-air, seeming surprised by his enemy's strength. In a moment, however, Black Bolt's left fist had started giving off powerful vibrations as well, and shortly after that, he'd driven it into Ben's stomach.

Reed, Johnny and Sue were all astonished and horrified as Ben seemed to have suddenly lost consciousness, keeling over and collapsing to the ground.

"I... don't believe it..." Johnny muttered, horror spreading all over his face, "Big guy..."

However, Reed wasn't just worried that Ben's brute strength had failed against Black Bolt. There were still other possible courses of action they could take. The real problem, as Reed saw it was that Black Bolt thought he could defeat all of them at once. Even with such great strength, he couldn't hope to defeat Reed or capture Sue, and who knew what kind of powers Carol had, to say nothing of the fact that if Black Bolt were immune to heat, he was showing no signs of it. If the inhuman king thought that he could really defeat them all at once, he had to have a power more devastating than superhuman strength, and too late, Reed realized just why Lockjaw had left the area. Whatever kind of power Black Bolt was about to use, it was dangerous to anyone nearby.

Reed had no time to even react to those thoughts, however, before Black Bolt opened his mouth, and breathed out in the quietest whisper.

The earth shook as shattering vibrations plowed through the air all around the inhuman king, and the people he was opposing. The vibrations of his voice were so powerful, even at such a low volume, that they cracked the ground, shook the air, and brought all nearby eardrums almost to the breaking point. Reed Richards could feel both his body and mind being shaken like a baby rattle in the final moments before he blacked out.

* * *

Johnny Storm had never felt quite so helpless. When he'd woken after being knocked out by Black Bolt, he'd been in a prison cell of some kind, apparently designed to contain him. There were small holes in three of the four walls of the cell, that seemed to sense whenever he was using his fire and react by drawing the heat out of the room through those holes. Johnny had tried to turn on his flames more than once already, and both times, the room had become so cold immediately afterwards, that he'd passed out for a short time until the temperature had returned to normal. The only wall of the cell not lined with those small holes was transparent, and seemed to reveal the hall just outside Johnny's enclosure.

Because he'd been unconscious so frequently, Johnny had absolutely no way of knowing just how long he'd been kept in the prison of the inhumans. Obviously, they considered him a threat after he'd tried to escape them once before. It was a crazy kind of situation for a kid his age to be in, he knew. Johnny didn't usually pay much attention to what people thought of him. In his mind, people could think what they wanted to, and it didn't make a bit of difference to him. He'd never really been in a situation where a few bucks and a compliment couldn't pull him through. It was terrifying to be so utterly up against a wall, and especially surprising after acquiring such fantastic powers as the new Human Torch. For once, he didn't know what to do, and it wasn't like a blinding fury or simple anger with how things had gone. He'd felt both of those in the past. Johnny Storm knew that he needed a skill or power of some kind that he just didn't have, and in the end, the fact that he didn't have it wasn't anyone's fault but his.

Of course, Johnny had seen how Reed had tried to reason with the inhumans, and hadn't been able to. That really didn't make him feel like any less of a failure, though. Despite the great powers that they'd all acquired recently, Johnny could tell that the others sometimes looked at him like the weakest link in the chain, just because of his immaturity and tendency to think about himself first, before others. Besides that, Johnny was something of a slacker. He tended to just drift through the situations he found himself in, never quite taking anything too seriously, and he hardly ever thought about any of those things as actual problems. Still, alone in a cell designed to contain him, Johnny Storm realized that although he was most definitely trapped in a very difficult situation, he just might be able to use the problem he was faced with to his advantage. If only, he thought, he could find some way to prove himself by discovering the one route of escape that everyone else had overlooked; even Reed.

That was the first time in months that Johnny actually took Reed's frequent advice to slow down for a moment and think clearly, and as Johnny began to think more logically, he started to realize that Reed Richards had probably stunted his mental growth. It wasn't that Reed hadn't encouraged Johnny to think more clearly in the past, but whenever Reed and Johnny had worked together, Johnny had never actually needed to think for himself. He'd always just sort of assumed that no matter how clearly he thought, Reed would always be two steps ahead of him, so why not cut out the middleman and just let Reed do all the thinking? It was only in that cell, when Reed's ingenuity had truly failed him, that Johnny had started to think for himself, and realized that there was one thing that Reed would never have considered. While Johnny might not understand how the machines moderating the temperature of his prison worked, he had seen the gleam in Crystal's eyes, as Reed had been debating with Black Bolt. Crystal, at least, was curious about the strange humans who'd invaded Attilan, but she was also somewhat afraid of them, which meant that Johnny needed to convince her that he wasn't dangerous if he even wanted the chance to get back out of his cell, much less home to New York. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was the only one he could think of.

Continuing to think more slowly and carefully, Johnny seated himself on the floor of his cell, folding his legs underneath him, and resting his arms on them, then closed his eyes and tried not to focus on his problems. While thinking so clearly, and reacting so slowly, Johnny found that there was a sort of inner peace to just sitting and not thinking about anything. The hard part had been not thinking about his problems for a while. Usually, his thoughts just skimmed over his problems, of which he had a surprising number, but when thinking more slowly, it took a conscious effort not to dwell on the rotten things about his life, especially while still trapped in a prison by inhuman xenophobes. It was hard work to try to be truly at peace in that kind of situation.

Of course, there were advantages to remaining utterly silent and peaceful, besides just the hope of getting someone's attention as a more peaceful being. For one thing, Johnny could hear the commotion from nearby cells; a loud banging noise that probably indicated what Ben Grimm's plan of escape was. Johnny could barely hear those noises, obviously due to the thickness of the walls, and couldn't hear anything else outside the cell, so for a moment, he decided to hum to himself. It was a relatively recent tune, that he'd probably heard in a movie somewhere. He couldn't quite remember where he'd heard the song, but it had gotten stuck in his head, so it was probably the right kind of tune to hum while trapped in a prison, and it wasn't as if he had anything else to do. Besides, some part of him wanted to prove that even after having been defeated and imprisoned, he could still do things that the great and powerful leader of those superhuman people couldn't.

Every so often, as Johnny sat in the middle of that room, humming to himself, he'd start to get hungry or tired, but he ignored it well, drowning it out with the sound of the music. Once, he heard the sound of some machine depositing food in his cell from one of the slots in the walls, but he ignored the food as well. It smelled pretty good, but he blocked it out. He had no good reason to eat as long as he could make his point better without eating.

It seemed like many hours that Johnny's hunger strike persisted. He fell asleep once, but remained seated while he was sleeping, and when he woke up, he didn't try to get to his feet. It was the one course of action that no one who knew him would have expected, and he could only hope that it would draw a little attention.

At last, after hours of sitting and ignoring everything around him, Johnny Storm opened his eyes, and saw Crystal looking at him through the transparent barrier from just outside his cell.

"Why have you just been sitting there?" she asked as she looked at him sadly, and Johnny found that he could hear her perfectly well when she spoke. Perhaps some form of intercom device had been activated inside his cell somewhere.

"Why should I bother getting up?" Johnny asked, trying to sound calm and collected, like Reed, "It's not like I have someplace to go."

"You haven't eaten either." Crystal tried to point out.

"There's no point in feeding me." Johnny said, "If I starve to death here in this prison, who's going to care? I'll just free up cell space."

"Don't you want to live?" the inhuman girl asked, looking confused and puzzled.

However, when she asked that question, Johnny finally got to his feet, ignoring the stiffness in his limbs, as he stepped towards the transparent wall, separating him from the inhuman girl who was concerned for his health. She didn't back away as he approached the barrier, though, because he didn't look the least bit threatening. In fact, he still looked just as peaceful as when he'd been seated, except much, much sadder.

"Do you even know what life is?" Johnny asked sadly, as he put one hand against the barrier, and looked into Crystal's eyes, "Black Bolt said that inhumans are told their greatest talent and given a job for their lives when they're kids, right?"

"It's true." Crystal replied, "It's how we've survived."

"Surviving isn't the same thing as living." Johnny said sadly, looking away, "Back home in New York, I had all kinds of issues and problems I had to face; choices I had to make about the kind of hobbies I wanted, the kind of friends I wanted, the kind of job I wanted... Do inhumans get to decide that kind of thing? What they want to do with their lives, I mean?"

"N... No." Crystal replied, "Those kinds of choices are forbidden. We must do what is best for the inhumans. We cannot afford to be selfish."

"Life with no freedom isn't any kind of life at all." Johnny muttered, "I can't expect you to understand that, if you've never even heard of people being free before, but there's really something missing if you've lived free before, and you have that freedom taken away. That's why I feel sorry for you, in spite of everything your people did to us, and that's why I won't eat."

Johnny was just turning away from the barrier to return to his seat on the floor, when Crystal spoke again, and he felt his heart leaping in delight at her words, though he didn't dare to let her know how he was feeling.

"Maybe I can't completely understand yet. I haven't lived in the human world. It must be terrifying to have so much doubt in your life."

"Sometimes," Johnny replied, turning back to face her again, "but sometimes you also feel free and thrilled when you know that you get to pick some things about how your life goes. You can't have freedom unless there's some kind of risk involved."

"What if it's not worth the risk?" Crystal asked, pressing the matter, "What if giving people freedom only causes your society to collapse, and hurts more people in the long run?"

Johnny wasn't sure what to say to that. He wasn't used to debating philosophy, but after spending so many hours taking things so slowly, it wasn't too long before he could see the comparison between the inhumans and his own people vividly in his mind.

"In New York, people got the chance to make choices about their own lives." Johnny realized aloud, "They couldn't decide everything for themselves, but at least there was some freedom there. I guess the whole system was probably set up to give people the chance for greatness. I think people deserve that chance."

"But the cost..." Crystal replied sadly, "the suffering that all of those risks and failures must have caused..."

"Your people don't allow each other the freedom to choose what they do for a living." Johnny realized aloud as if he hadn't heard Crystal's last objection, "I'm not sure why. Maybe they didn't care about people's freedoms, or maybe they decided that results mattered more to them than having choices for their own lives. I haven't seen much of your city yet, but it seems to really be focused on results, like all that matters is for people to get along, even if they don't have any choice about it."

"That's right." Crystal replied, seeming only a little sad as she spoke, "That's just how it is. The fruits of a society determine its worth, and a society that causes unnecessary suffering for future generations has very little worth."

"You don't have any freedom." Johnny said, looking at her intently, "If you wanted to be a cook, or a barber, or a firewoman, could you?"

"...No." Crystal said, "No, my duties are administrative and diplomatic. I have to help keep everything running smoothly."

"Why?" Johnny asked, "Why don't you have that choice? Isn't there anything you want to do just because you want to do it? Isn't there anything you want that goes against your duty?"

"We... we mustn't speak of such things." Crystal warned him, looking deeply sad all at once, so Johnny knew he had to try a different tack.

"Are you really that eager to get back to your 'administrative duties?'"

"Tell me something, Johnny Storm." Crystal said as she looked at him again, still looking very upset, "If you were pardoned, and allowed out of this cell, would you agree to live among us?"

"If they let me out of here, I wouldn't even leave." Johnny replied, "Whenever you don't have freedom, it's a prison, whether there are walls and traps or not. I wouldn't be able to live as an inhuman. You're just not free enough."

Crystal seemed like she was about to say something in reply to that, but when she opened her mouth, no words came out. At last, she simply turned and walked away, and Johnny Storm just collapsed to the floor. The truth was, although he'd started out with the intention of manipulating Crystal into helping him escape, he hadn't, in the end, told her any lies, and he realized as he sat there in his cell that there was no way he could from that point on. He couldn't lie to her because... Because the truth was that he really did feel sorry for her. Maybe it was just his empty stomach talking, but the whole time he'd spoke with her, he hadn't been able to stop himself from thinking "What a waste. All this power, and so much curiosity and wonderment, and yet she has no freedom to use it."

Johnny was almost completely sure that his pity for Crystal would start to fade as his hunger grew worse, but even so, knowing that on some level, he really felt that way about her made him question whether trying to acquire his freedom through her was right.

* * *

"Sister!" Crystal exclaimed, rushing into the meeting hall just as a number of ministers and regional governors were leaving. When she entered the meeting hall, only Black Bolt and Medusa were still there, sitting at the meeting hall's long table. The large tapestry, recording the major events of inhuman society for the last several thousand years adorned the wall behind them, just as it always did.

"Sister, Johnny Storm is refusing to eat." Crystal insisted.

"Not for long." Medusa replied carelessly, "Humans are a baser sort of creature than us, my sister. You would do well to remember that. Quite likely, this is just some display on his part, to attempt to convince us of his dedication to his people."

"I thought so too, at first..." Crystal said, looked away for a moment, "But now, I think it might be serious. Can humans contract captivity syndrome, sister?"

"It would be better if you simply forgot about the humans." Medusa replied, "We will work on a means of preventing others from intruding into Attilan, but those five are lost causes. We did all we could for them; offered them all that we could safely offer, and they chose to refuse us. Besides, they're only human."

"Only... only human?" Crystal asked confused, "But sister, didn't you once tell me that if not for the mists, all that would separate us from the humans are a few small differences in the chemistry of our brains? Do they not have the same worth as we?"

"No." Medusa replied, "Humans are a worthless pestilence. They are totally incompatible with our civilization, and this latest intrusion has proven it. If that human dies in his cell, he'll be lucky. Human technology has come too far already. Something must be done about this."

"N...no!" Crystal exclaimed angrily, "Sister, why would you say such things? What is wrong with you?"

Just then, however, Black Bolt began to give off vibrations, which Crystal was able to interpret as words.

"Listen to your sister carefully." she heard Black Bolt express wordlessly, "The human's life means nothing. They are a lesser species, and action must be taken to prevent them from disturbing us further."

"What kind of sick joke is this?" Crystal exclaimed furiously, "My king, when you wed my sister, I was overjoyed. People knew that my sister and I looked the most normal of all the inhumans, and yet, you willingly chose her to be your bride, making me an heir as well. You knew that the public would be disturbed by your choice when you made it, yet you had the courage to take that course."

"Your point being?" Black Bolt replied with his vibrations.

"You always had the courage to stand up to the fears that our people had, and do right regardless." Crystal shouted angrily, "Ever since I've known you, you always told everyone that open war with the humans was the worst possible eventuality, and now you're trying to tell me that it's alright to attack them just because their technology makes them a potential danger to us..."

"Is that truly so hard to believe?" was the reply, "No one wants war, but I will do what I must to protect our people."

"No!" Crystal exclaimed, "Something is wrong with you! Something is wrong with both of you! You're not acting like yourselves!"

"Oh, well. I guess the game is up." came a voice from nearby, though the source of the voice wasn't immediately obvious.

"What?" Crystal asked, looking around in confusion, until the sacred tapestry was moved to one side, and there, behind it stood the very last person that Crystal had expected to see.

He had long, black hair, and a series of five small horns protruding from his forehead at regular intervals. He was dressed in powerful-looking, silver armor and the expression on his face was both wicked and mindless. He was the one member of the inhuman royal family who could never have been allowed a say in matters of state; Maximus the Mad.

"I guess you're surprised to see me." Maximus said with an insane smile, "I can't say I blame you, my dear."

"What are doing out of the Asylum?" Crystal demanded to know.

"It was starting to get boring, so I left." Maximus replied, "You see the doctors made the mistake of trying to treat my condition with drugs, and after some experimenting, I was able to concoct an airborne toxin that made every last one of them my slaves. Of course, it only worked long enough for me to escape from there, but still, it was progress. Since then, I've developed a longer-lasting version of the same toxin, though it must be ingested in order for it to be effective."

"P... poison..." Crystal realized aloud, terrified, "You've poisoned the royal family with a mind control drug... But... why wasn't I effected?"

"Because you were the only one I never gave the toxin to." Maximus said with a smile, "Crystal, you are the one I have always sought the attention of, but you could never realize that. You thought it was just an effect of my madness, that led me to feel that way about the most human-looking of all the inhumans, but I truly do seek your love, and not as a mere puppet. What a pair we would be; the brother of the king and the sister of the queen; the new rulers of the inhumans, and of the human world."

"Release my family, mad one!" Crystal exclaimed furiously, "If you don't, I'll..."

"What?" Maximus asked, "What will you do to me if I don't release them? Don't forget that my power is the same as the power of Attilan's founder. You call me mad, because I think so differently from you, but I am still the most intelligent of all the inhumans who are still alive. The armor that I wear was designed with the willing assistance of Karnak, who helped me to find its weaknesses, and do away with them, and I do have the other inhumans on my side. You are alone, my dear. You can do nothing to stop me."

However, just as Maximus was advancing towards Crystal again, she began to use her own powers. Once more, her conscious thoughts stretched out for the elements that surrounded her; earth, air, water and fire. Crystal couldn't control those elements completely, but that didn't mean she wasn't capable of great feats.

At her command, a great wind picked up around her, swirling around her body and driving Maximus back, as well as Medusa, who'd been about to step forward and entangle Crystal in her tentacle-like hairs. In only a moment, the small tornado that Crystal had called up was carrying her back out of the meeting hall, and into the throne room. There, she saw Karnak, Gorgon and Triton waiting for her, and in their eyes was the same look of ferocity and mercilessness that she'd seen in the eyes of her sister and Black Bolt. They too were under the control of Maximus.

Quickly, Crystal pressed onward, driving herself directly through their midst as the swirling winds that surrounded her tossed all three of them aside. She felt helpless and afraid for the first time in years. She'd always known that Maximus' powers were dangerous, but she'd never thought that he could seize control so quickly, and so totally. All that the inhumans had built and accomplished would be destroyed as long as he remained in command, and the worst part of it all was that...

Crystal had stopped just outside the palace of the inhumans, and concealed herself behind a statue, hoping against hope that Karnak, Triton and the others wouldn't detect her presence. It was probably best that Crystal had hidden herself, because she'd just arrived at a realization that was so startling, it was distracting her, making it harder to focus her powers. The worst part of the situation, for once, wasn't the damage that Maximus could do with control over the royal family of the inhumans, or the loss of the things she'd known her whole life. The worst part of it all was that her family had been compromised... tainted. Crystal had always looked to her family for help whenever she faced challenges and obstacles, but they couldn't help her anymore, and worse, they were her enemies. The problems she was facing were terrible, but none of them felt quite as bad as the realization that her family was trapped helplessly by their worst enemy. Crystal had to do something to free them and stop Maximus from carrying out his plan, but she wasn't sure what she could do, realistically. She did have special powers of her own, but they weren't enough to oppose the rest of the royal family, and without someone to back her up, she...

That was when Crystal came to another startling realization. It was the only possible solution to her problems. There was one person in the city who hadn't eaten anything since Maximus had resurfaced; one person she could count on to be free of Maximus' control.

* * *

"Crystal!" Johnny exclaimed as the young inhuman came charging back into the hallway just outside his cell, the guards at the entrance having fallen before her powers just a moment before, "You came back!"

"I... I need your help." Crystal gasped, quite out of breath by that point, "My family's being controlled by Black Bolt's brother Maximus. I need your help to free them."

However, when Johnny heard that, his face fell, and Crystal could tell that she'd made some kind of mistake.

"Is... Is that why you came here?" Johnny asked, "Is that the only reason?"

Crystal was very confused by Johnny's words. She wasn't sure what to say in reply. She wasn't even sure what Johnny wanted her to say.

"I kept thinking... I kept thinking you were basically like us. I mean, I figured that maybe something I said or did about freedom and sacrifice and stuff... I kept thinking some of that would bug you." Johnny said, "But you didn't come here because of any of that, did you? The inhumans are in all kinds of trouble, and you came here because you need saving from an enemy. Nothing I said mattered."

It was, Johnny knew, a selfish thing to say, but Crystal had seemed so curious and eager to understand people before, and to discover that she hadn't spent even a moment since their last meeting thinking about what he'd said had made him feel pretty unimportant. It even seemed to take Crystal a moment before she realized what the problem was.

"My sister always told me that we're not really so different from humans." Crystal said very sadly after a moment, "I think she was wrong. Maybe there's some reason why our people were nearly destroyed at the dawn of civilization. Every time we talk, it seems like I'm trying to understand the ocean without having ever seen a drop of water before. I feel like you understand so much that I've never been aware of. As our people have remained secluded in Attilan, we've lost contact with the outside world. We were always so convinced of our own ethics, that we never believed that any human ideals or feelings held any value. I think I used to think that way myself, but... but I can't talk to you and feel that way anymore. It's just so obvious that I'm missing out on something. I haven't had much time to think about it, but I can't just keep living in ignorance like that."

However, as Crystal said that, her expression darkened, and she said "I may not think about that sort of thing constantly, though, and you can't expect me to dwell on it now, when everyone I care about is in mortal danger, or else being human must not be so great after all."

"Yeah. Yeah, alright." Johnny replied, smiling as he got to his feet, "I guess I just wanted to hear that you really care what I think. I haven't seen much of that in Attilan yet."

"I'm getting you out of here." Crystal said, punching some keys on a pad next to Johnny's cell, "We can talk more about this once you've helped me save my family."

"Yeah, I can live with that." Johnny replied with a smile as the transparency slid away into the floor with a sharp hiss, allowing him the freedom to leave at any point.

"What about the others?" Johnny asked as he stretched his legs for the first time in hours and started to get used to thinking more quickly again, in preparation for the action he was about to get involved in.

"I... I wasn't sure about letting them out." Crystal said slowly, "I mean, they've all eaten the food, so there's a chance that Maximus has poisoned them too, and... I'm not sure I can trust them completely, but... If you want, I can let them out too."

"If we're about to fight your king again, we definitely need more help than just the two of us." Johnny replied, "Last time, he pretty much tore us to shreds with that voice thing he does."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that." Crystal replied as she moved over to some of the other cells, and started opening them, one by one, "Black Bolt can't use his voice in Attilan. It isn't an ability that he can direct or control. Whenever he speaks, even in the slightest whisper, it creates uncontrollable vibrations in the air all around him, which can, depending on how loudly he speaks, destroy anything from a building to a continent. His responsibilities are great."

Ben, fortunately, was asleep when Crystal unlocked his cell, and the others expressed no anger when they were released; just surprise and amazement. Once Reed had taken a moment to wake Ben up, they were just about ready to leave the prison at last. However, Ben Grimm, for once, seemed less than eager to just charge into a fight without talking about it first.

"So what's our next move?" he asked as they prepared to leave the prison.

"You have to help me save my family. Please..." Crystal said, trying to be as polite as possible, but Ben seemed not to be paying any attention to her.

"Well, we have to do something." Reed noted sensibly, "We've already seen the kind of power the inhumans have. If it falls into the hands of a madman, he could pose a very real danger to mankind. No matter what we may think of the inhumans, we do have a duty to help protect our own people."

"That's right!" Crystal exclaimed, suddenly remembering something important, "Maximus mentioned something about wanting to become king over both humans and inhumans. I'd say he wants to take over your world as well as mine, and with Black Bolt at his command, he could probably do that."

"Sounds like a problem worth solving." Reed said, "Count me in."

"I'm not going to let some madman devastate the globe." Sue chimed in, "You can count on me too."

"No matter what else you guys want to fight for and believe in, I'm still technically in the U.S. Air Force." Carol Danvers said, "That means I have a duty to the United States military, and to its people. If Maximus or Black Bolt think they can threaten my country, I'm going to do everything I can to stop them."

"I'm with Crystal, no matter what." Johnny said with a smile, "She saved me. I really owe her."

"So are you in, old friend?" Reed asked Ben with a smile. Ben, however, wasn't smiling. He looked very worried.

"Just tell me somethin'." Ben said to Crystal, "If I save your friends, are they gonna try to toss us back in that cell?"

"If you demonstrate such a determination to do right, I'm almost certain that Black Bolt will reconsider his decision about you." Crystal replied, "He's no stranger to gratitude, and with me acting as advocate on your behalf, there's a chance he might reconsider his choices about the rest of mankind as well. He might even decide to reveal our existence to the human world if he sees that you're trustworthy enough."

"That's a start." Ben said, "There's more to it, of course, but we can deal with that later. Alright, stretch, I'm in."

"There's one more thing I should tell you before we plan any kind of attack, though." Crystal said, "Karnak has the power to find weaknesses in anything; whether it's an object, a technique, a person, argument or weapon. Apparently, Maximus designed some kind of armor with his help. There's a chance it might not have any weaknesses, in which case, we'll just have to find some way of separating Maximus from it. The drugs Maximus is using to control people should probably only work as long as he's consciously able to control the thoughts of others. Because of that, our real objective ought to be knocking out Maximus, not just fighting with my family."

Reed just nodded as Crystal explained the situation, and soon, the group was off through the city again in the direction of the palace.

* * *

As Crystal and the others arrived at the edges of Attilan, however, they saw something that even Crystal hadn't taken into account. Guards from the castle had come out into the city, and were barging into people's homes to search for her, and from the looks of things, the people of Attilan were scared to death. Of course, it did make sense for someone to be afraid whenever someone else broke into their home, whether they were a royal guard or not, but not if everyone in Attilan was under Maximus' control.

"When Maximus told me how he'd poisoned my people," Crystal whispered to the others, "I assumed that all of the inhumans were under his control, but now I see that he never had any intention of taking control of anyone outside the palace directly."

"Huh?" Ben asked, "I don't get it."

"Our civilization is divided by the special abilities we acquire upon exposure to the terragen mists, which are reflected in our physical differences from human beings." Crystal started to explain, "The royal family lives in the center of the spire in the very middle of the palace, and below them in our society are the military and the upper classes, who live inside the palace structure, but not the main spire. The rest of the city of Attilan, outside the palace structure, but still inside the cavern, are considered to be the lowest class; the common workers who make all of this possible. Black Bolt has always believed in doing right by all of our people, regardless of class, and during his time as prince, and his first several months as king, he was called a champion of the lower classes. No leader in our history ever did so much to bring about relative equality between the classes. At the moment, the largest difference between the upper and lower classes is in where they live, and that is determined by their birth, not by political decisions. Maximus, however, is a madman, and so, he was denied his royal station early on in life. He believes that the lower classes should serve only to slave for the benefit of the upper, and I am almost certain that if he rises to power, mankind will suffer that fate, but even after all the times I've heard him say that lower-class inhumans were worthless... I never expected him to make such a blunder. In conquering our society, Maximus used his drugs to poison people's food, but it seems that he only poisoned the food of the people he thought mattered; the royal family and the upper classes. That means the lower classes still have their free will, which means that we still have a chance to get through to them about what happened."

"Do you mean a revolution?" Reed asked, "Forming an army from the inhumans who are still free to stop their own king and military?"

"No." Crystal replied, "To save their king. Black Bolt is being controlled, and worse yet, profaned. Under the influence of Maximus, Black Bolt will be just as much a madman as his brother, and he must be stopped before he does something that none of us can undo. The people will listen if someone talks to them on behalf of Black Bolt's true will; the defeat of his mad brother."

Reed stopped to think about that for a moment, and then made a suggestion.

"Crystal, I think I could probably get their attention. Sue or Johnny probably could too. I think they'd be more likely to trust you or Ben, though. The problem is that none of us can get in contact with them without also alerting Maximus to our presence. For that we'd need someone who can travel incredibly fast, and make contact with each section of Attilan individually..."

"What about Carol?" Johnny asked, drawing all eyes in his direction. Typically, Johnny wasn't the one they turned to for strategic advice, but his recent experiences had changed him just a little. Unlike Reed, he was no genius, but he was willing to make guesses, and he had a feeling that Carol held at least some of the answers they were looking for.

Reed closed his mouth for a moment to look at Johnny, then at Crystal, then at Carol, then back at Johnny again. A moment later, he glanced back towards Carol once more, and muttered "Carol? Can you really run that fast?"

"I... I don't know." Carol replied, "I haven't... really tried yet."

"I don't know how fast she can really go either." Johnny replied with a smile, "All I know is when we were rushing for the surface; I had to slow down so you guys could keep up. Carol was on foot, and she was the only one keeping up with me. She was definitely holding back, though. I'll bet if Carol really pushed herself, she could go just as fast as me."

Carol Danvers was used to being looked up to for her skills as a pilot, of course, but to have superhumans looking to her for powers they couldn't touch was a very different kind of experience, which she wasn't at all comfortable with. Comfortable or not, however, she was needed again, and she knew that she had to do the best she could.

Quickly standing upright, Carol Danvers seemed to vanish from view entirely, in a blur of motion and a rush of wind, and even Johnny Storm, who'd had such faith in her abilities, was stunned and amazed by what he was seeing.

* * *

Carol quickly sped through the streets of Attilan as fast as she could; a speed that astonished even her, and which most others could barely see, easily turning corners and tossing aside less-powerful inhuman guards, who tried to stand in her way, though she did her best not to injure any of them too badly. She'd run into the middle of a street, then try, in a shouting voice, to convince the inhumans that Black Bolt was enslaved to Maximus, and needed their help to rescue him, then dash on to the next street and attempt the same thing there. Carol spent about thirty seconds in each major section of the inhuman city, but thirty minutes wouldn't have been any more effective. As she ran back to the others a great deal later, feeling tired and upset, only a few had listened to Carol's words, and come to join them; less than half a dozen in total.

"I don't get it..." Ben muttered, looking at the people of Attilan as they continued ignoring Carol's warnings, "Why ain't this workin'?"

"It's... It's the way she looks." Crystal realized after only a moment, "Even after the speed she's shown them, they still only see a human when they look at her. They're... They're as bad as Maximus."

"No..." Reed replied without much hesitation, "No, they're not. These people aren't accustomed to being responsible for their fates, so they've lived their lives dependent upon their city to teach them how to behave, and that city taught them to fear humans. Maximus decided that humans were worthless of his own free will. Even if there's nothing we can really do to reach these people, I wouldn't compare them to him."

Crystal seemed truly miserable, but nodded once in confirmation of Reed's words.

"Why's it so important to get their attention, anyway?" Ben asked, "I mean, you battered your way outta that castle once, right? Can't we just batter our way back in?"

"We..." Crystal muttered, "We could try, but I escaped before he'd sent out the guards, and even if we do manage to get past them all, I... I don't like the idea of leaving my people at the mercy of Maximus' servants, no matter what they've done to deserve it. I just wish there was some way I could get their attention all at once."

Ben Grimm looked at Crystal once, then to the left of the rocky cavern, then to the right, then directly upward, and finally said, "Awright, honey. Let me show you how to get folks' attention."

Quickly, Ben walked over to one of the nearest stone walls of the buildings surrounding the cavern city that Crystal called home, then gave a very loud shout, and drove his fist into the rock, wrenching it loose again in a shower of debris that could have been seen for a mile as an enormous cloud of dust. Just a moment later, Ben clapped both hands together hard, his extremely tough skin and massive strength creating a sound like an exploding bomb as he did so. It echoed through the city, and into every house and alley as the vibrations spread the dust out through Attilan in all directions. It was, Reed realized, going to draw the attention of their enemies as well as the lower-class inhumans, but from the looks of things, they didn't have much choice left.

Soon, people came running to see what had caused such a ruckus. Many of those people were guards, while many others bore no weapons, but all of them were inhumans. Not one of them looked like a normal human being. To most people, they might have seemed like a crowd of monsters, but they were the people that Crystal knew, and although Ben found the sight of them as homely as the one that greeted him when he looked in the mirror, he knew what he had to do next.

"Hey, you turkeys!" Ben exclaimed, "Lissen up, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once! The big guy; the king... He's got himself hypnotized! If you don't wanna... Hey!"

Ben's exclamation of alarm had come when one of the guards who'd arrived on the scene had fired a beam of light at him from his weapon; a metal staff with a transparent globe on one end. Ben got back up, furious as more guards arrived on the scene. The beam weapon; whatever it had been, had only glanced across his shoulder, but it had left burn-marks in even his powerful, rocky skin. Ben Grimm was furious.

However, he wasn't the only one. In just a moment, the guard; who had a fin on his back like a shark, felt something grab his legs, and soon, he'd fallen to the stone floor of the cavern as the arms of Reed Richards untangled themselves from around his ankles. It was a temporary solution, though. Soon more guards were arriving from new directions, firing their weapons without hesitation, and that was when Carol Danvers arrived at another big decision.

"That's it." she thought to herself, "That's just it. I don't know how I got these powers, or whether I'll be keeping them forever or not, but as long as I have them, I have to use them. I can't let these guys hurt my friend."

In a flash, Carol had vanished again, and once again, the cavern city of Attilan shook with impact after sharp impact, as the sound of powerful, superhuman blows crackled through the air, knocking aside whole groups of inhuman guards the moment they dared to aim their weapons at the Fantastic Four. The others; human and inhuman, all simply stared in awe, and in some cases, terror as the guards fell to the ground and stayed there. When the sound of the fighting had died down, and Carol rejoined her teammates, emerging from a near-invisible blur of motion, none of them were sure what to say to her. She was even more powerful than any of them had suspected. Even Ben; her old friend, didn't know what to say to Carol Danvers.

However, although Ben wasn't sure what to say to her, he did know what to say to the inhumans. Speaking up with his powerful lungs, Ben exclaimed "As I was sayin', the king's in trouble! His brother's used some kinda drug to take over the spire, and we gotta stop him before he ruins the whole city."

"It's true." Crystal piped up from right next to Ben, "Maximus is loose in the spire, and as long as he is, we're all in danger. We're the only ones left that he isn't in control of yet, and that means we're the only hope the inhumans have! We must stop Maximus now, before it's too late!"

* * *

The madman known as Maximus; the once-disgraced brother of Black Bolt sat on the central throne of the inhumans with a smile on his face as he listened to news coming in from the research labs.

"Is the bomb nearly finished?" Maximus asked with a grin.

"It will be complete within the hour, lord Maximus." Gorgon replied with a bow.

"Good." Maximus replied, and then, turning to Karnak, he asked, "How's progress in determining the difference between the brain waves of humans and inhumans?"

"It's… slow going, sir." Karnak replied, looking ashamed, "The brain is a complex machine. It may take some time."

"I want a weapon that will destroy the humans, and leave our people untouched," Maximus reminded him, "and until we know the precise difference between our race and theirs, there is no way of building such a weapon, is there?"

"F-forgive me, milord." Karnak begged, truly enslaved to Maximus' will by the drugs.

"It is not a question of forgiveness." Maximus replied angrily, "Gather as much assistance as you need from among our people, but get the job done, and get it done now."

"Lord Maximus!"

The voice came suddenly from the chambers just outside the throne room, and it was the voice of Queen Medusa; who looked close to panic. She'd seen something that terrified her.

"The other inhumans, and... and my sister... they're here with the Fantastic Four!"

"What other inhumans?" Maximus scoffed, "I control the inhumans now."

"The inhumans of the lower classes." Medusa replied.

"Those slime?" Maximus asked, "I refuse to believe that they pose any threat to me."

"They outnumber us five to one, milord."

"Numbers mean nothing. The power is still ours." Maximus insisted, "Crush them."

* * *

It had been a very long time since Attilan had seen war. The guards and the military leaders, as well as most members of higher society soon found themselves compelled to travel out and defend the spire in the center of the palace compound from their more numerous brothers among the lower classes, using their powers as best they could to that effect. On average, the powers of the higher-class inhumans exceeded those of the lower class, but the lower class had the advantage of numbers, and they also had the advantage of Crystal, the Fantastic Four and Carol Danvers. Moving as fast as they could, the six of them sought out and overwhelmed the enemies whose powers seemed to be posing the greatest threat to their allies. Johnny used his flame to drive back a group of several who were using blasts of energy. Reed Richards used his flexible body to trip up a number who were clearly much stronger than most of the inhumans, Sue had managed to conceal whole teams of their allies until it was too late for the enemy to react, and Carol, Crystal and Ben were doing the most direct damage to the enemy as they pressed on; creating tremors in the ground to make their foes lose their footing, until they could be apprehended and robbed of their weapons. It wasn't long before the spire door came down under Ben Grimm's rocky foot, and the group stepped inside, to find themselves faced with their worst enemies up to that point; the inhuman royal family.

Before charging the spire, Crystal had shared with her new allies a few important facts about the powers of her family, so that they wouldn't be caught off guard, but none of them were feeling particularly confident about their chances as they charged into the throne room, to find six figures standing ready for battle. They were Maximus, and all of his most powerful slaves.

The largest threat, and the one who lead the charge, was clearly Black Bolt himself. According to the plan they'd developed, he was Reed's responsibility. Black Bolt, apparently, wasn't really as strong as he'd seemed when he'd knocked Ben out so easily on the surface. His real power came from his ability to draw in and amplify vibrations in the air around him using the tuning fork on his head, which meant that the only way to really stop him was to entrap him in a barrier capable of absorbing any kind of vibrations, no matter how intense, and Reed Richards was just such a barrier.

In a flash, Reed's rubbery form had stretched over Black Bolt, covering every muscle of his body; his face, arms and legs, until he was completely concealed under the blue costume that Reed wore around his torso. Karnak immediately charged forward, to try to liberate his king, but Crystal intervened with a blast of flame from one of her hands, and then caused the floor to rise up under Karnak; who'd been called "the shatterer" in the past, and knocked him onto his back. As Black Bolt writhed helplessly within Reed, Triton charged forward, but was knocked backward again by an invisible enemy, while Johnny used his fire to hold the waving, tentacle-like hair of Medusa at bay. Ben, in turn, had faced off against Gorgon; whose power was the ability to create cracks in the ground beneath his feet, using a powerful stomp. Ben started to loose his balance when Gorgon first used his special ability, but quickly recovered, grabbing the large inhuman by the shoulders, and slamming him hard against the ground.

The tremors that Ben and Gorgon had been making throughout the spire had thrown most of the other combatants off-balance, although Carol was having a lot more success maintaining her balance that most of the others, with the exception of Johnny, who was flying. Maximus, however, seemed to finally be growing worried. His slaves were losing ground, which meant that he was going to have to take action himself.

Something activated within the armor that Maximus was wearing, and he seemed to float forward along the ground as though weightless, firing beams from his fingertips at his enemies. Johnny felt one of the beams, whatever it was; impacting sharply with his chest, and in a moment, he was falling towards the ground, his flame dying as he started to lose consciousness. Suddenly, Maximus was on top of him, grabbing him by the neck in one hand. Sue Storm gasped in alarm, alerting Triton to her position, and turning the course of the fight against her, but even though Reed had successfully subdued Black Bolt, and Ben seemed to have knocked Gorgon unconscious, they were pretty terrified too, when they looked at Maximus. It wasn't just that he was holding Johnny Storm helpless in one hand; Maximus had zipped across the courtroom with enormous, superhuman speed. They probably hadn't even been able to keep track of him when he did that.

Of course, Crystal had said that Maximus had no physical powers; that his special powers were all intellectual. Maximus was an inventive genius who could design and operate extremely advanced technology; even beyond the standard kind used by the inhumans. That probably meant that the beams he'd used as weapons, his seeming ability to defy gravity, and his great speed and strength were all products of his armor rather than innate powers, but in either case, a powerful force would be needed to stop him. From what she'd seen already, Carol wasn't sure than any human or inhuman was fast enough to keep up with the weapon that Maximus was wearing, except, perhaps, for her. She knew she had to give it a shot, anyway.

Whenever Carol went as fast as she could, it wasn't, she could tell, a matter of just moving her legs. Somehow, she found that she could move, think and react faster than other people around her. It was a little like the rush of excitement felt when a person's pulse speeds up, except much more thrilling, all at once, and it didn't feel particularly unhealthy when she did it. It was almost like having an entirely different "mode" for running than for talking. That was really what Carol had done when she'd dashed through the city, and when she'd fought the guards, and it was what she did just then; shifting into "speed mode."

Amidst the chaos of the battle between the inhumans and the Fantastic Four, Maximus was just beginning to apply pressure to Johnny's throat, when a fist came out of nowhere, driving into his face from the left, and knocking him away from his human prey. In just a moment, he was back on his feet, but despite Karnak's work to the contrary, he'd felt the impact of that blow, even inside his armor, and he was furious to see that it was a blond-haired woman who'd made that attack against him.

"Do you really think that you can win against me, woman?" Maximus spat out furiously; "Do you think that you can destroy the invincible armor built without weaknesses?"

"If I can't, no one can." Carol replied, and just as she'd said that, Maximus began to move much faster, zipping around behind her, to reach for her arm from behind, but Carol had seen every move he'd made, and reacted with speed just as great, seizing his wrist and squeezing it with all her strength, then kicking him in one side, knocking him into another wall.

Both sides of that conflict were distracted and terrified by the battle going on between Carol and Maximus; though to all of the other combatants, they only looked like a pair of blurs, zipping back and forth, making sounds like enormous explosions whenever they met to deliver blows. They were unnatural and monstrous, both in speed and strength; one the product of science gone mad, and the other the result of a severe overdose of the terragen mists. Crystal was truly amazed as she watched them fight. She could have made no difference in a fight between the two of them. Their powers were so far above her own... she felt very small and frail as she watched them fight, and yet, neither was really a part of her society. Neither was really participating in that structure that the inhumans had worked towards for so long. Crystal found it... thrilling, really.

At last, after trading blows for a while, Carol started to get used to fighting at such incredible speeds, and began using the basic martial arts that she'd learned in the air force against her enemy. Quick grappling moves, palm-out punches, backwards kicks, and finally, Carol was able to brace one arm against Maximus' throat, and drive him backwards through the air, into the wall, where she drove her palm into his face one last time, causing the stone wall behind him to crack. In that moment, Maximus could feel the protective barrier around his armor buckling, and some of the vast pressure biting into his armor, then his flesh. As sure as he'd been that his new armor was invincible, Maximus was losing blood, and with it, consciousness.

"You... you monsters..." Maximus gasped in one last breath, as he started to slow down, reacting at a speed no greater than that of a normal human being, and then, in that one, last moment before he lost consciousness, Maximus the Mad dropped a small, thin object from his right hand, which was box-shaped, with a series of brightly-colored buttons on one side. In fact, it bore some resemblance to a remote detonator.

The spire trembled in that moment, as the inhumans rapidly began to regain some sense of self, and Reed released Black Bolt quickly. In moments, they were all free of Maximus' control, but there was obviously another problem, as the tremor from the city's center and the rumbling going on outside indicated. Maximus was defeated, but that didn't mean the threat was over.

Without a word shared between them, the Fantastic Four, the inhuman royal family, and Carol Danvers all rushed outside to hear the sound of rumbling, crashing noises coming down from above. As one, they all looked up, to see that large, dark cracks lined the artificial sky overhead, and the light of the real sky was streaming in through those cracks along the edges. The sound of the destruction of all that stone and metal would have drowned out any vocal explanation of what was going on, but it was obvious enough to everyone watching; Maximus' final act before losing consciousness had been to activate some kind of bombs hidden on the surface, with the intention of causing the very roof of Attilan to collapse inward and kill them all.

Black Bolt's merest word would have destroyed them all just as effectively as the large, stone chunks headed towards them, but fortunately, he didn't need to speak. When he looked at the swiftly-recovering Human Torch, his gaze held much meaning, and even Johnny Storm could tell what he meant. It was up to the two of them. At once, Black Bolt and Johnny took flight, rushing upward into the air with all the speed they were capable of. Johnny had a feeling that he knew what Black Bolt's plan was. Maximus hadn't caused an avalanche per se; he'd just blasted part of the stone loose with a bomb, and that could be corrected if someone strong enough were to hold the stones in place, giving Johnny the chance to weld them back together with his flame. Johnny had done welding before on his car back home when it needed work, and he had no doubt that he could do the same thing to loose rocks. The only question was whether Black Bolt would be able to hold all of the rocks in place at once.

"Wish I could get up there." Ben muttered as blasts of fire shot out from the Human Torch, forming solid barriers to hold the rocks in place, "Looks like they could use my help."

However, Ben's words turned into a prophecy all too soon, as the cracks began to spread further along the roof of Attilan, and new sections of rock started to slide out of place. If even one of them came crashing down, dozens of lives would be lost. That was very obvious and very evident, and in some ways, Carol almost felt guilty over what she'd done to Maximus, although she knew that she hadn't had a choice.

"I should... I should be helping them." Carol shouted just loud enough for the others to hear her, but Gorgon, who was standing nearby, shook his head.

"You have done us quite a favor in saving us from the wicked Maximus, but you are still only human. There is only so much that you can do."

By that point, however, Carol knew that Gorgon was wrong. Ever since she'd first arrived in Attilan, she'd been learning more and more about her powers, and her own ability to take the initiative. She'd surpassed her own expectations as a human, and an air force sergeant, she'd surpassed the expectations of the inhumans who'd thought of her as just a human, and she'd even surpassed the expectations of the Fantastic Four. If someone didn't do something, people were going to die, but Carol also had reasons of her own for being determined to take action just then. Again and again, she'd discovered new things that she was capable of, and one way or another, she wanted to know for sure just how powerful she'd become.

"I'm going up there!" she thought with mighty determination, "I'm going to do what I love most again. I'm going to fly, and this time, I'm going to do it alone. No more planes, jets or helicopters. I'm going to fly all by myself."

Then with that burst of determination and self-confidence, Carol Danvers leapt up, and she just kept going up and up, further and further... The ground fell away underneath her, and in spite of all the danger, Carol was in heaven. The ground plunging away beneath her, and the sky rushing up to meet her, she was in her element once again; propelling herself through the air by will alone. Carol Danvers was flying. It was marvelous.

Quickly, Carol reached a large chunk of stone with both hands and shoved it upward, back into the roof of Attilan that it had come loose from. Then she was off to another section of the roof to pound another chunk of rock back into place, as Johnny and Black Bolt tried their best to keep up with her, and make use of the time that Carol was buying them. Far below, inhumans of every class stared up in awe at that woman, who was fixing the problem that they were suffering from. As she seemed to hold so many pieces of the roof together with such ease, the inhumans were amazed. Even in the greatest inhumans, they'd never seen such a thing before, and they began to ask questions as the inhuman king and his two human allies finished their repairs to the roof of Attilan. Most of those questions went unanswered, but one or two deserved a reply.

"Is that a human, Lord Gorgon?"

A simple "Yes" was the response.

* * *

Nearly twenty-four hours passed after the repairs were completed, before order had really been restored as such. Everyone had needed time to get some rest, and arrangements had needed to be made to keep Maximus sedated until all of his drugs had the time to fade from their bodies. Naturally, he was to be kept imprisoned even after that, but that was nothing new. A few meals; purified of Maximus' drugs were served before any of the typical matters of Attilan politics could be tended to, which meant, among other things, reconsidering the decision of what to do about the humans. In the end, they were all gathered in the throne room again; Carol and the Fantastic Four on one side, and the royal family of the inhumans on the other, although Crystal looked a little uncomfortable, seated in her tertiary throne.

"You have saved us all," Medusa said, though Reed was certain that it was Black Bolt who was really "speaking," "and you will not find me ungrateful for that. Regardless of the risk to myself, or to my people, you will be returned to your homes. However, that does not make this a happy occasion for me."

Reed needed to struggle to keep the smile off of his own face as Black Bolt continued.

"When you arrived here, I saw only the people that your ancestors had been one hundred years ago. I gauged your trustworthiness not on personal merit, but on what your people had accomplished as a whole up to this point. Had your people gauged me thusly, based on the actions of Maximus, it would have been no less a mistake."

Reed was the only human there who had no difficulty deciphering those words.

"I knew that Maximus was a threat to us all, and I should have paid closer heed to him, and less to unfounded suspicions about you." Black Bolt continued, "However, your time here has caused many changes. The people of Attilan are now aware that their lives were saved by five human beings. With this knowledge, I very much doubt that they will be content to continue living as isolationists. I feel that I will shortly be obligated to make contact with the human world once more; so this I will do. However, make no mistake; if your people choose to react to us with acts of violence and war, we will respond in kind. We are a powerful nation, in spite of our limited population, and I feel that we would prevail against any force of arms the humans send against us. You would do well to warn them of that if they should seem inclined to do violence to us."

Reed gave a short, silent nod. However, that was when Black Bolt turned to face Ben Grimm, and he looked much more serious than ever, when speaking to him.

"In your case; Benjamin Grimm, you have done much to aid us in this time of need, but I have heard your request, and I cannot agree to it. The sacred terragen mists are the heritage of the inhumans. I will accept that they have found their way into human lungs by accident, but I cannot condone their use as part of an experiment. To attempt to divine the true nature of the mists is, to us, the highest form of blasphemy, and as long as inhumans are inhumans, that is how it will be. I hope that you will understand this."

Ben heard Black Bolt's words with a frown on his face. Of course, he'd been hoping that the inhumans would agree to give him some of the mist to take back to New York and use in the alien machine, to turn him back into a human, but being faced with the reality that it wasn't going to happen, Ben didn't feel quite as horrible about that as he'd thought he would. In fact, it almost made him feel relieved, just to have that answer, no matter what the answer was.

"S'aright." Ben said, shrugging it off quickly, "There's more important stuff in life."

When he heard Ben say that, Black Bolt smiled, as Lockjaw moved forward, opening up two brilliant gateways; one leading to an air force base that Carol found familiar, and the other to the streets of New York City.

"Do you think that things will ever change between us, sir?" Reed asked after taking only a short look at the gateways.

"Things have changed between us already, and they may continue to change still more." Black Bolt replied, "Though our people are not accustomed to change, and could never surrender our sacred traditions, I do not think that you will be the last humans to visit Attilan. There may even come a time when one of us will walk on your soil."

Then, Black Bolt had gotten to his feet, and given a bow, as had every other member of his family, and in a flash, Carol Danvers and the Fantastic Four were gone; to return to their world and their status quo.

However, as the light faded from the throne room, the scream of Medusa echoed through the whole hall.

"Where is she?" Medusa asked in a full-fledged panic, "Where is my sister?"

Sure enough, Crystal had disappeared. For several seconds, the other inhumans searched frantically for her, until Black Bolt reached down into her empty throne, and removed from it a slip of paper. His eyes darted across the paper for several seconds, taking in the words on the page, and when he was done, and handed the letter to the others, he knew in his heart that things had changed for good. Nothing would ever be quite the same again.

* * *

End


	12. Issue 12: Growing Up

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 12

"Growing Up"

* * *

Tony Stark was absolutely miserable.

It was nothing unusual, of course. He'd been miserable every day for the last several months. People who knew him thought they understood why, but they didn't have a clue just how close he'd been to the Avengers... To Jan... Hank...

Despite the great wealth and power that Tony still wielded as one of the world's richest industrialists, nothing could cheer him up. If he'd tried to just focus on his work, and ignore the sorrows and cravings that were still inside of him, he knew he couldn't have done it, and his company would have suffered as a result, but Stark still had connections to the world of the modern super hero. It wasn't the same as being Iron Man, of course. Nothing could match that. It did, however, keep him on top of his game, even if it didn't keep him happy.

Stark Industries had been operating in multiple states, and even a few other countries for quite some time, and it didn't always need Tony's administrative talent to make things work, but every so often, conventional methods would be unsuccessful, and problems would arise. That was when Tony got a call, forcing him to remember, grudgingly, that he had a job to do.

The phone on Tony's desk rang sharply, shaking him out of his unpleasant reminiscence about the times before the disaster had occurred. He felt just a little cheated as he picked up the phone, but he still tried his best to sound eager as he said "Tony Stark. What's the problem?"

* * *

It was a typical morning for Bruce Banner. He'd been woken up a few minutes too late by his alarm clock, rushed through a shower and breakfast almost simultaneously, and grabbed the lunch he'd made the night before out of the freezer, charging outside to his car. It was a nice, functional car; comfortable, and with good mileage. It didn't exactly look spiffy, but then, Bruce wanted people to be impressed with his work, not his ride.

Almost as soon as Bruce got into the driver's seat, however, the cell phone in his pocket started vibrating madly, and being the cautious man that he was, he decided to postpone putting the keys in the ignition until he'd taken the call, particularly once he saw who was calling him on the cell phone's tiny display screen.

"Tony?" Bruce asked with an eager smile as he opened the phone, "Am I really that late?"

"There's been a change in the schedule for this week." Tony said, however, ignoring the miniature gag a bit coldly, "I just got a call from my managing staff out in LA, and they say they're going to need more information about the reactor you designed."

A lump formed in Bruce's throat. He hoped the conversation wasn't going where he thought it was.

"Did they read the documentation I wrote on the subject?" Bruce asked.

"Bruce, maybe you don't realize just how bright you are." Tony said, "They couldn't make heads or tails of your documentation. In fact, in all the time we've worked together, the only times I've seen people understand anything about your theories are when you answer their questions directly."

"I can't spend the rest of my life answering questions, Tony." Bruce replied, close to a panic already.

"You won't have to." Mister Stark said in a more subdued tone of voice, "We just need to make this one trip. I've organized a meeting of some of the top physicists and industrialists in the world, and they're eager to take part in your lectures, and ask you questions about the theories you based the Gamma Reactor on. Once this week is over, the teaching angle is in their hands. The only thing you have to do is spend one week in LA."

"Why couldn't we just hold the meeting here?" Bruce asked desperately.

"Well, aside from the obvious rescheduling costs, over half of the people I was telling you about live on the west coast." Tony replied, suddenly noticing the sharp edges that were forming around Bruce Banner's words as he spoke.

"Bruce?" Tony asked, "What's eating you, anyway? I mean, the air in LA isn't the best in the world, but..."

"It's not that." Bruce replied sadly, "I... know somebody who lives there and... I'd rather not see them."

Tony seemed to understand the kind of relationship that Bruce was describing, but that didn't mean he was going to cave, and waste thousands of dollars trying to reschedule the affair.

"Bruce, don't think for a moment that there's anything you could do that would make me fire you. You saved my life once, and I'll never forget that, but you're still drawing a paycheck from my company, and I need you to do the work that's required of you. You're a good man, Bruce. You know all about doing your part in a bargain..."

"Yeah..." Bruce muttered, "Yeah, don't worry about it, sir. I'll do it. Where should I go?"

* * *

So, against his own active will, Bruce Banner had wound up back in LA, determined not to run into one person in particular as he made his plans for the week. He'd booked a hotel room, he'd arranged for taxi rides well in advance for everything he needed to do, and if there was something he didn't need to do, he was quite determined to stay inside, and not do it.

Bruce hadn't told anyone that he was coming to LA, and he certainly hadn't told anyone what flight he'd be on. The only place he'd written the information down had been in his own, personal day planner, which he had in one of his jacket pockets at that point, and yet somehow, things had gone wrong yet again. Family members always knew when their favorite cousins were coming to visit.

Just inside the waiting area of the airport, Bruce cringed upon seeing the large "Bruce Banner" sign that seemed to have been made of cardboard and permanent black marker, but at least Tony had the decency to fight down the chuckle that the sight was encouraging in him.

"See you later Bruce."

"Yeah." Bruce replied, feeling miserable as he trudged towards the sign. It had been a long time since he'd felt that upset with the way things were going, but he still wasn't angry. He couldn't be.

* * *

Bruce sighed as he rode through LA in the passenger's side seat of his cousin's convertible. It wasn't a bad day, considering. A little cloudy, maybe, and Bruce also didn't mind convertibles per se. None of those things were causing problems for him, but the person sitting in the driver's seat invariably would. She was wearing her brown hair in a bun, and her horn-rimmed glasses were perched sharply on the bridge of her nose. She was dressed in a white button shirt with a black jacket over that, as well as a black skirt, and she wore high-heeled shoes to make her seem even taller than she was, which was, Bruce thought, perhaps a form of nonverbal boasting. Jennifer Walters was no shrimp. In fact, she was five feet, ten inches tall; almost as tall as most men. Bruce could see that she was struggling to keep from being the first one to speak, and although he wanted her to win that struggle, she inevitably lost.

"So I hear some big stuff's happened in New York lately..." Jen said, though she didn't dare to take her eyes off the road, partly due to her own natural cautiousness, and partly due to the inherent dangers of LA traffic.

"You mean the Avengers?" Bruce asked, "You heard about that all the way out here?"

"LA isn't the boonies just because we live on a different coast than you, Bruce." Jen reprimanded him slightly, "Besides, it's the internet age. Everybody was talking about it until just a few weeks ago. You were living in the same city as them, though, and the Fantastic Four too... and Spider-man, and that other guy... What did they call him? The big, green guy that injured Stark..."

"I forget his name." Bruce lied, "Besides, New York's a big city. I never really saw any of them."

"Well, we never saw them either." Jen said, waving the comments off, "but everybody was still sad when we heard what happened. I think we were all hoping they'd be like the Invaders, and inspire everybody. I mean, that was a real golden age. People with big powers and big wills went out and did big things to try to help everybody, and people loved it. In the history books, they said that the invaders were referred to as 'our boys.' I wouldn't mind living in a world like that."

"That's not how things are." Bruce replied, "Sure, people like the Fantastic Four, but I don't think they really find them that inspiring, and lots of people are scared of Spider-man. I won't even touch the h... that other guy. People should be afraid of him. They should be terrified."

However, Jen only fell silent for a few moments, before she asked "So... anything new with you?"

Bruce sighed again. Inevitably, the answer to that question would lead Jennifer to realize that he'd been avoiding her intentionally.

"There was a minor accident at Stark Labs, and it set us back quite a bit..." Bruce explained, "But in the end, the reactor was a big success. I'm in town to give a talk to scientists and teachers on its functions, use and operation, after which we can start shipping all across the country."

Bruce didn't enjoy spending time with Jennifer Walters, and one of the reasons was that she reminded him too much of himself. It wasn't just that she was a little shy around strangers, or about the same height and weight that he was; that was creepy enough by itself. However, Jennifer also shared a lot of Bruce's character traits, particularly his sharp wit for processing facts and drawing conclusions, and although they did have some differences in terms of specific areas of talent, Bruce couldn't escape the fact that every time he talked to Jen, he saw things about her, and thus about himself, that he wasn't crazy about. What made that worse was that many of those things were completely absent from the monster that called itself the Hulk.

Jen had fallen silent as Bruce had described his recent successes, her mind working to process the facts and draw the inevitable conclusions. She knew that Bruce never worked on Sundays, and that all kinds of incredible things had happened to him lately, and yet, he'd never called her. There was only one conclusion she could have arrived at. Bruce Banner didn't like her at all.

"We don't need to keep talking." Jen said bitterly only a few seconds later. When he heard that, Bruce started to feel a little hopeful that he'd be given some solitude during his time in LA, and yet, even though that was what he'd really wanted, he couldn't help but feel like scum.

* * *

Trask took a seat and motioned for one of the three men behind him; Francis, to lock the door. He was about to have the kind of conversation that no one should walk in on.

The two men with whom he was having his conversation were named Josef and Harold. They weren't exactly powerful in LA, but there were things they could do that wealthier people couldn't.

"So what's the job this time?" Harold asked quickly.

"I need you to be professional about this one." Nick Trask said, leaning forward slightly in his armchair, "You boys have probably heard what happened to my son."

Both thugs nodded respectfully. They'd heard.

"The judges are getting tougher and tougher to work with." Trask continued, "They know that the people in this town like Sheriff Walters, and they're scared to cross him. Otherwise, I could've just bribed one of them to grant my son's bail."

"The sheriff's a lot of trouble, alright." Josef said, "He's been coming down hard on everybody in the business."

"That's where you boys come in." Trask said, "I was sick of his interference before, but he crossed the line when he put my son in prison. Just be sure nobody sees you, alright?"

"We'll take care of it." Harold replied, "I assume we don't have to negotiate a price."

"Any fair price up to a hundred Ks." Trask said at last, "He's cost me more than that already."

Harold nodded, though he didn't smile. He wasn't, after all, in that business because he enjoyed it.

* * *

Jennifer had to struggle to keep her spirits up as she walked up the steps to her father's house. Sheriff Morris Walters was frequently a busy man, but he always had time for his family, and he usually had some good advice to share when things got really bad.

It only took Morris a few moments to open the door after Jen had rung the bell, but just the sight of his face was a comforting one to her. He seemed about to smile when he saw who it was, but noticed the expression of sorrow and disappointment on her face almost at once, and quickly realized that something was wrong.

"Jen?" Sheriff Walters asked, "Come in... Please."

Jennifer started to feel a little better as her father welcomed her inside, closing and locking the door to his house behind her. Quickly, she seated herself in an old, wooden chair near one side of the room, as her father took a seat in an armchair across from that. The two of them had been through it a hundred times before. They knew the routine.

"Dad, I just wanted to talk to somebody..."

Her father nodded swiftly. He didn't need to reply aloud. The question of what, precisely, was wrong was an unnecessary one by that point.

"Bruce Banner is in town, Dad." Jen said. Her father seemed to understand at once. Jen had never suspected that Bruce felt uncomfortable around the Walters', but it looked as if Morris Walters had known that for a while.

"I tried to show him a little hospitality..." Jen explained, "Give him a room to sleep in, rides wherever he needed to go, and so forth, but I just don't think he likes me at all."

Morris just nodded a couple times, but still didn't speak.

"What should I do?" Jen asked, confused and worried, "Bruce is family. I'm afraid I'm only making things worse somehow, but I just don't see what I can do to make him like me."

Morris sighed deeply. He knew there was only so much he could do to comfort Jennifer when it came to that issue.

"Jenny," he said, still calling her by the name he'd used when she was just a little girl, "there's only so much a person can do to make someone else like them. In the end, whether or not someone likes you isn't up to you, or even up to them. Bruce can't control how he feels anymore than you can. I know I have cousins who never liked me, and probably never will. If I were you, I'd try to give him his space, but if he hasn't been respecting you, confront him about that. Everyone deserves respect, whether they're liked or not."

"That's not going to make this any easier..." Jen muttered a little, but her father just shook his head.

"There isn't usually anything easy about getting along with family, Jenny." Morris said, "We get along pretty well, but we're a rare exception. Typically, you have to wander outside the family tree to find somebody that really likes you. I can't tell you not to be upset that Bruce doesn't want to talk to you, but don't lose hope just over that. There's nothing strange about it."

Then, a moment later, Morris Walters stepped forward, and gave his daughter a warm, loving hug.

"I love you, dad." Jen said as they both released each other and stood up.

"Feeling better?" Morris asked with a smile.

"Much." Jen replied, her own smile returning, "Thank you, dad."

"No problem." he said, then after just a moment, he inquired, "How are things going in court, by the way?"

Jennifer was an attorney who specialized in cases involving discrimination of minorities. Had she herself been a minority, she might have been taken a bit more seriously, but in general, her sharp wit and way with words were well-respected in court, and she certainly never had any lack of work to keep her busy. Even when there wasn't a huge pile of cases on her desk, there was always some new legal precedent to study.

"Really good." Jennifer said, still smiling, "The Donoian case went really well, and I'm getting a new case tomorrow that sounds really easy. I feel like I'm really making a difference. Did you manage to land... what's his name...? Dietarian? Delorian... in jail?"

"Close." her father replied with a short chuckle, "The man's name's Dorian; Dorian Trask. I'm surprised things went so smoothly, considering he's the son of a big underworld kingpin."

"Wow." Jen muttered, "That's really something."

"Why not stay for dinner?" Morris asked, but Jen just shook her head.

"I can't, dad. I have a meeting tonight, but I'll be back later. I promise."

Morris nodded, trying his best to keep smiling as his daughter headed for the door.

As soon as Jennifer Walters opened the front door, however, there was a sound from outside, both familiar and horrifying, that shot through Morris from head to toe like a bolt of lightning; the sound of gunfire.

* * *

Sometimes, keeping up a pleasant smile wasn't easy. Bruce had expected to see many doctors at his impending seminar, but not that many. The "classroom" that Tony had told him he'd be teaching in really looked more like an auditorium, with a projection screen behind the main front desk. Tony was behind that desk, and off to the sides, were two people that Bruce hadn't expected to see.

Betty was there. Bruce wasn't disappointed to see her, of course. In fact, he was glad she'd come. She'd been one of the many scientists who'd helped him to finish the gamma reactor project once it had gotten past the theoretical stages. She had short, brown hair, and was dressed in a shirt, skirt and high-heeled shoes, all of it dark blue, but next to her was a man that Bruce had never met.

He had gray hair and a large mustache that covered his entire upper lip, and his expression was stern, but pleased. He had many wrinkles along his face and hands, which, coupled with the color of his hair, indicated a man who'd been around for more than fifty years, but he was also dressed in a gray suit similar to the one that Tony was wearing, except decorated with medals and stars of various types. He was definitely a military type, and Bruce found that unsettling. He'd never liked violence.

"Tony!" Bruce mouthed silently as Tony Stark stood behind the central desk, explaining the basics of the gamma reactor himself, though even he didn't completely understand some parts of it.

"Tony!" Bruce mouthed again, waving both arms, and that was when Tony noticed him, as did Betty and the military man. Of course, Bruce had entered from just behind a flag, off to one side of the room, so his presence hadn't become known to the scientists and other physics teachers yet. Tony looked a little frustrated, but said "Just a minute, everyone," and stepped over to where Bruce was, behind the flag. Quickly, Bruce pulled Tony out the door he'd just come through, and closed it again in worry.

"Bruce, please tell me you're not having second thoughts again." Tony began, but Bruce cut him off just as quickly.

"No. I still want to give the lecture on the reactor," Bruce explained, "just not in front of someone who could turn it into a weapon."

Tony seemed confused, so Bruce reiterated, saying "Tony, the gamma reactor generates a huge amount of power through a process far superior to anything that's ever been used before. If we can use that power responsibly, we can make life easier on millions of people who can't afford to pay their power bills, but if the reactor specs fell into the hands of the military, they could probably reverse engineer it into a bomb. I don't want that to happen, Tony. Why is there someone from the military here?"

Tony hadn't been smiling at any point in the last hour, but he looked a little relieved once he'd realized what Bruce's objection was.

"He's not here to learn about your technology at all, Bruce. General Ross is here as a favor to his daughter."

"General... General Ross?" Bruce asked, not sure he'd heard that right, "You mean Betty's father is...?"

"A three-star general in the United States Air Force." Tony finished the sentence, "He's one of the most loyal and respected generals in the US armed forces, Bruce. You can trust him."

"You know me, Tony." Bruce replied, "I don't trust anyone who thinks they can use force to solve problems. I've never liked men who were willing to use violence like that. I need you to understand that."

Tony Stark felt pretty badly alienated by those words. Some of the people he'd once called his best friends were no strangers to the use of force in solving big problems, and he preferred to remember them that way. He couldn't validate Bruce in his pacifistic views in good conscience.

"Are you at least still going to do the lecture with him there?" Tony just asked, his expression as bland as ever.

Bruce hesitated for several seconds over that question, but the answer was never really in doubt.

"Yes, I will." Bruce said, "But I don't like this, Tony."

Tony was silent for a few more moments, but at last he said, "I set up a few slides for you. They're diagrams of the reactor's various components. I didn't get most of it, but I'm sure you'll find them helpful."

Bruce just nodded as he headed back out to the auditorium-sized lecture hall, and walked up to the front desk, where there was a small microphone, intended to make it possible for the people at the back of the room to hear him clearly. There would have been problems otherwise, and even so, Bruce wasn't sure how he could answer everyone's questions.

"Good afternoon." Bruce said into the microphone, "I'm Doctor Bruce Banner, and I designed the theory behind the Gamma Reactor, which has so far been a wonderful success, and which, I believe, will generate cheap, renewable, safe electricity for many, many people in the future."

"I'd like to say that I view this project as another in a long line of inevitable steps forward towards true peace for mankind."

Bruce had thrown his entire original lecture right out the window the moment he'd realized that the general was there, and although he'd chosen to cover all the same material, there was an aggressive edge in the way he spoke, ironically directed at the very idea of people being aggressive. His words, and the way he said them projected a firm image of a man who would never condone the use of his technology in murdering another human being, and the general would have needed to be an utter idiot to not pick up on that. Fortunately, though, the general obviously knew that he wasn't on an air force base anymore. Bruce had been brought there to teach others, and when a person was teaching, one did not interrupt them. The only exception to that rule was when there was an emergency.

Once or twice, Bruce offered the opportunity for questions, and had to hear those questions out one by one, encouraging people to raise their hands, since he couldn't hear them from all the way at the back of the room. The person asking the question would then have to move closer, and ask it loudly enough to be heard. If it hadn't been so inconvenient and frustrating, he might have found the whole thing laughable.

Bruce's actual lecture lasted less than half an hour, by which point he was confident that he'd covered all the basics, but still, there were questions to be answered for people who hadn't been able to follow his logic. For another fifteen minutes, Bruce continued explaining and re-explaining the reactor's functions to the scientists gathered there, and there seemed to be no end in sight, when Tony rushed forward and spoke into the microphone, saying, to Bruce's relief, "Sorry, everyone. We have to go. I'll call you all and reschedule..."

"Reschedule?" Bruce asked as Tony led him out the back door from the lecture hall with the Rosses following at a safe distance, "Tony, what's up?"

"Your... uh... cousin..." Tony said, looking deeply discouraged.

Bruce felt about to fly off the handle when he heard that the interruption had something to do with Jennifer. He was about to exclaim that business came first, but no one believed in that philosophy as much as Tony Stark without going overboard into true villainy. Bruce also thought about asking what Jennifer wanted, or why Tony had listened to her, but then he realized that Tony never would have let Jennifer interrupt one of his business ventures unless it was a true emergency. Stark had already warned Bruce that a reschedule would cost thousands of dollars, and once Bruce started thinking more clearly, he realized that there was only one thing which, in Tony's mind, was worth more than several grand.

"Oh, no." Bruce muttered as he realized what was happening without any of it needing to be explained to him, "Will she recover?"

"Wow..." Tony said, astonished by how quickly Bruce had realized that his cousin was in the hospital, but he rapidly regained his composure, because he knew he'd need it to break the bad news to Bruce.

"The doctors don't know if she'll make it or not." Tony said, "Like you asked, I had all your cell phone calls routed into my personal phone during the lecture, but it was really you they wanted to get in touch with. I don't even think they realized you were in town, though."

"I wonder why they knew to call me, in that case." Bruce said, all of his frustration melting away as concern for the life of his relative replaced it. He may not have gotten much enjoyment from her company, but he certainly didn't want her to die.

"You're the only relative she has with the same blood type." Tony replied, at which point Bruce froze for a moment.

Blood type... In other words, they wanted a blood transfusion from him, which meant that she wasn't just sick. She'd either been in an accident, or else she'd been attacked. Either was an infuriating occurrence that tended to leave many scars and injuries. Bruce tried to imagine Jennifer attempting to do her work in law while covered in scars, or stuck in a wheelchair, and either one was difficult to picture, but there was one other possibility that he hardly even dared to think about. Whoever or whatever the Hulk was, it was something that waited inside of Bruce Banner for the very moment when he became angry to seize control; changing his body and mind to enact its violent "revenge" upon those who'd hurt or aggravated Bruce in the past. It was a monster inside of him that terrified him more than anything else in the world, and because of that, Bruce knew that he couldn't give Jennifer the blood from his veins unless there was truly no other way to save her life.

* * *

"As near as we've been able to figure, there was at least one person, or maybe a small group of people waiting outside with the intention of ambushing and killing Sheriff Walters." Doctor Courcy said as he spoke with Bruce in the hospital's waiting room, "Morris lives alone, so they were expecting him to be the first one to step outside. When they opened fire on the first person to come out, it turned out to be Jennifer, not Morris."

"Miss Walters suffered seventeen gunshot wounds to her arms, legs and chest." the doctor continued, "Fortunately, no vital organs were damaged by the bullets, and we managed to remove them all from her body with a simple operation, but she'd lost too much blood by that point. Unless she gets more, she'll be dead within ten hours."

"Isn't there... I don't know..." Bruce muttered, "Isn't there anybody else who has our blood type?"

"It's a very rare blood type, Doctor Banner." Courcy replied, looking a little exasperated with Bruce's hesitation, "We have a total of three other blood donors in this city with the same blood type. Of those, one is in another state at the moment, and the other two have already given as much as they safely could. Your cousin was as pale as a corpse this afternoon, and she needs one more blood donor to pull her through this."

"How long does she have, minimum?" Bruce asked.

"If her condition really worsens, I can picture her dying in six hours, maybe five at the worst." Courcy said, "Why is that important?"

"You may as well know this..." Bruce replied, "I'm prone to an... illness of sorts. I don't have any guarantee that I can pass it on by blood transfusion, but there is a chance. I'd rather there was another way."

"I can appreciate your desire to preserve your cousin from additional illnesses," Courcy said, losing his temper at last, "but in just a few hours, no illness in the world is going to matter to her. You have about an hour and a half to think it over, but you might want to consider the alternative, doctor. If you asked her to choose between illness and death, which one do you think she'd pick?"

Bruce started to feel like dirt again as he thought over his next course of action, but it still wasn't going to be an easy choice to make.

* * *

Bruce was still sitting in that waiting room, trying to think of another solution, close to twenty-two minutes later, when Sheriff Morris Walters came in. It seemed that he'd been the one who'd rushed Jennifer to the hospital in the first place, but he'd left when he knew that they needed to perform the operation, and that he couldn't stay by her side during that time. Morris looked very tired and worn, as if he'd been very busy ever since he'd left the hospital, but Bruce didn't dare to ask him what he'd been busy with, or indeed, speak to him at all.

It was, in fact, Morris who spoke first.

"I was surprised when I heard that you were the one they needed blood from. When they said you were the only one of her relatives with the same blood type, I was the one who told them you were in LA."

Bruce wasn't too surprised by that, but he still didn't say a word.

"Are we still waiting for a safe moment? Is there something wrong?"

"I'm having... I mean... I don't know if I can do..." Bruce tried to stammer, but he could practically hear Morris' jaw falling when he said that. Morris was a reasonable man. He knew it was Bruce's choice what he did with his own blood, but he was dreadfully disappointed to hear that Bruce was hesitating to give life to his daughter.

After the two had spent almost a minute in silence, Morris began to really look Bruce over, and for some reason, he saw in Bruce the very same kind of childlike self-doubt that had been present so often in Jennifer whenever she was out of the courtroom. Bruce was timid, cautious, and not at all sure of himself. He was almost like a reflection of Jennifer, and if he was really all that similar to Jennifer, Morris knew what tack he had to take with the brilliant scientist.

"What do you think of Jennifer?" Morris asked.

"She seems to have become a very respectable..." Bruce started, but Morris held up one hand quickly and interrupted him.

"No lies, and no professional distance. How do you really feel about her?"

Bruce couldn't speak for a moment, but it was plain that giving no answer at all would be worse than telling the truth, so Bruce sighed and spoke truly miserably.

"Sheriff, every time I look at Jennifer and talk to her, I see all the things about myself that I don't like, but it's worse than that. I mean, she's my cousin; my flesh and blood. I should like her, or at least be able to stand her, but instead, when I talk to her, all I see is my own timid nature, my own lack of resolve, and my own cowardice. I wish I could feel anything at all about Jennifer, but when I look at her, the only person I think about is me."

"Well, then..." Morris replied, "It seems to me you have a shot at changing all that now."

Bruce was surprised by that comment, and hoped that Morris didn't mean what Bruce thought he meant by it.

"What?" Bruce asked, confused.

"Well, if you save her life, here and now, and things work out, you're not going to see your faults when you look at her anymore. You're going to see your generosity, and the better nature that you allowed to govern your actions when you chose to save her. Even if things don't work out, and you lose all that blood for nothing, at least you'll know you did your best. Maybe you do see the things you hate about yourself whenever you look at her, but let me tell you something. If you do nothing, and she dies, you're going to see those faults every time you look in the mirror, and I can't describe to you how horrible that would be."

"Whenever I look in the mirror…" Bruce mouthed. It had been several months since he'd seen the image of the Hulk staring back at him out of mirrors, puddles and his own worst nightmares, but he definitely knew what it felt like to see the qualities you hate most staring back at you from the other side of the mirror. He hated the very idea, but more than that, he feared it. If that was the kind of future he had to look forward to...

Bruce knew he would do anything to protect himself from that; even run the risk of passing on his own greatest fear to someone he'd long disliked for no fault of her own.

"Excuse me." Bruce said, getting to his feet quickly, "I need to speak with the doctors."

Then he left the waiting room, and Morris grinned a little as he did. Whether Jennifer would pull through or not, Bruce was going to go through with the operation. He was going to do the right thing.

* * *

Just over five hours has passed since the transfusion, though for Bruce and Morris, it seemed longer. Bruce had been prescribed food, drink and rest to restore him to full strength, but he couldn't just go off and sleep without knowing if the transfusion was a success or a failure. He needed to know if Jennifer would be alright. In the end, a nurse had brought him a hamburger, and a large cup of water in the waiting room. It was a little irregular, but Bruce wasn't willing to do anything more for the moment.

At last, however, Doctor Courcy came out into the waiting room again, looking nervous and worried as he approached Bruce. Soon, he was whispering "Doctor Banner, we should talk." into Bruce's ear, and Bruce had a sinking feeling that he knew what that meant.

* * *

In moments, Courcy and Bruce were in a secluded room, containing a table and a few chairs. Bruce was, it seemed, expected to sit, so he did.

"I don't know what kind of illness you thought you were vulnerable to, Doctor Banner," Courcy said almost as soon as he'd taken his seat, "but I can virtually guarantee that Miss Walters won't catch it."

"Oh?" Bruce asked, not liking the sound of that.

"Doctor Banner, let's not mince words." Courcy replied, "The fact is, I'm the only person in this entire building who monitored Jennifer's vital signs after the transfusion, so I'm the only one who knows what's really happened, but I think you might want to keep it a secret from the other hospital staff, or everyone is going to want some of her blood."

"The fact is," Courcy continued, "your blood seems to have performed something of a small miracle. Do you know anything about cuts, scars or abrasions?"

"Well, it's not exactly my field, but yes." Bruce replied, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Then let me show you something..." Courcy replied, pulling a few pictures from his pocket. They were small-scale photographs of large tears in the skin; apparently bullet-wounds. The first picture showed a large, bloody gash, the second showed a much smaller gash, and the third no wound at all. If anything, the skin looked smoother and healthier than Bruce's.

"I removed one of the bandages just after the operation to document this." Courcy said, "That gash that you see in that first picture is an inch and a half long, but it used to be more like three inches before the transfusion. Each of these other pictures was taken at five minute intervals."

"Five minutes?" Bruce exclaimed, feeling intensely scared and distraught, "Wait a minute. Are you saying that my blood is healing her somehow?"

"I can't explain it either." Courcy replied, "I've never seen tissue regenerate that fast. It's as if every cell in your cousin's body has suddenly become charged with some kind of self-sustaining energy, and it's using that energy to repair the damaged cells."

"Call it what you want, doctor." Bruce replied with a smile, "I'm just glad she's alright."

"There's more to it." Courcy said hurriedly, "As I said, I've never seen anything like this before, but there is a chance that whatever is causing this rapid healing is going to continue on, even after she's completely healed. If there really is some type of self-sustaining energy in her body now, and it's really powerful enough to heal her like this, it'll just keep building and building when it can't heal her anymore, and when a large amount of energy builds uncontrollably inside something, do you know what happens to it?"

Bruce hesitated for several seconds. He didn't even like to think about that, but he had to give an honest reply, at least.

"I'm a physicist." Bruce muttered sadly, "Of course I do."

"Now, maybe I'm just panicking." Courcy replied, "Maybe her body will find some other way to cope with all of that extra energy. I don't know. All I know is that this is a very unique case, and I'd like to keep Miss Walters here for the next couple of weeks at least, to get some..."

"Why are you asking me?" Bruce asked irritably, "Why not just ask her?"

Courcy closed his mouth, then opened it, then closed it again; obviously not sure how to reply to Bruce Banner.

"The truth is," he finally admitted, "Miss Walters has threatened to leave today unless you tell her otherwise."

Bruce grinned. So the ball really was in his hands, for once. Of course, for more reasons than one, he didn't want Jen being examined too closely by the doctors, so he knew what his reply to Courcy was going to be.

* * *

Jennifer Walters unlocked the door to her house and stepped inside, offering Bruce the couch to lie down on, although he really wasn't feeling all that weak anymore. Still, to appease her, he decided to do as she'd suggested, and in a moment, she was seated in an armchair across the room, looking a little grave, if still very healthy. There wasn't a single scar or bruise anywhere on her.

"I guess the only civilized thing to do is to start by thanking you for what you did, Bruce." Jennifer said, trying to smile. She hadn't said two words to him the entire way home, but it had seemed like her own living room was the right place for a talk. "Would you mind telling me what was in that blood? I mean, it wasn't really yours. It couldn't have been."

Bruce just shook his head, however, replying "It was really mine, Jen. As far as what was really in it, I can't be sure myself."

"Come on." Jennifer chuckled, "You'd better tell me or I'll wrestle it out of you. I mean, I'm pretty sure I deserve to know, since I'm going to have it in my veins for the next seven years or so."

Bruce looked her right in the eyes. It was still hard to speak to her, but at least she was doing her best to show him sides of herself that he didn't have; a good sense of humor, for example. Bruce had never been much for jibes or jokes, friendly or otherwise. He wasn't crazy about the trait in her, but at least it was one he didn't have in exactly the same degree, and of course, she was right. His blood was hers. She deserved to know what had happened to him, as much as he himself did.

"I think it may have had something to do with a few of my earlier experiments with the gamma reactor." Bruce explained slowly, feeling some regret and hesitation even as he spoke, "Gamma waves are a type of radiation that I was trying to change into a self-sustaining, renewable power source. Well, I eventually succeeded, but I had a lot of failures too. In the worst one, the reactor experienced a critical meltdown while I was trying to stabilize it. The other scientists got to safety, and sealed off the area, but I was caught in the blast. I still can't explain why I didn't die. Even an amount of pure gamma radiation the size my thumbnail should have been able to kill me, but I was surrounded by the stuff, and I'm still alive. I don't know why my body reacted so well to the radiation. That's also the reason I hesitated to give you the transfusion at first. I wasn't hurt by what happened, but I wasn't sure what effect it would have on you."

Jennifer didn't say anything for a few moments, but at last, she asked the question that had been bothering her since Bruce had started telling his story.

"Bruce, do you heal quickly like me?"

In response, Bruce removed the bandage over his left arm, and found that the scab covering the place where the blood had been taken from was gone, and there was no sign of the small hole in his skin either.

"I guess so." Bruce replied with a slight grin that he couldn't quite keep off his face, "I didn't know, though. It's been months since I've gotten scraped."

"Well, I'm glad things worked out the way they did." Jennifer replied with a smile, "If I can heal from bullet wounds, that means I don't have to worry about being shot by those guys anymore. It also means I can get to work finding out who did this, and seeing them brought to justice."

"Wait a minute!" Bruce exclaimed, turning slightly white. As little as he wanted to tell Jennifer about his own guilt, and the attack on Tony Stark, he knew he needed to give her one final warning. The shout had at least drawn Jen's attention back to Bruce, which meant that, for the moment, she was going to listen to him.

"Jen, there's one more thing that happened to me since then. I need to warn you not to get angry."

"Well, apart from the obvious, why?" Jen asked.

"Every once in a while, since the accident, I'd get really upset, and whenever I looked into a mirror when I was feeling upset or agitated like that, I'd see... a monster looking back at me. Once, I became truly furious, and then... something horrible happened. I think the monster got control of me somehow, through my rage. Now, I don't know if there's a monster in you too. I hope there isn't, but if there is, just remember to keep your cool. The monster doesn't have any power unless you get mad."

However, it was only then, at the end of his speech, that Bruce realized how ridiculous the whole thing sounded, and turned away with a sigh.

"Sorry." he said, "I know this all sounds silly. You'll probably never see a monster in the mirror, or anything else like that."

"Actually..." Jennifer replied after hesitating for only a moment, "It really doesn't sound that crazy. I have a problem that's a little bit like that."

"You mean..." Bruce muttered, "You've seen a monster too? One that no one else could see?"

"Well, no..." Jennifer replied, "Not a monster exactly, but ever since you showed up in town, I've just... been getting this weird feeling, like I'm being watched; like dozens of people are looking at me and watching what I'm doing, but I can't really see them, and nobody else has any idea they're even there. There's also kind of a... well, did you see the Matrix?"

Bruce just nodded. His own story had been strange enough that he was willing to be supportive of hers.

"Well, it's a little like that." she replied, "I feel like there's a... coding-like substance to my whole life that I've never noticed before, almost like it's not really real, but some kind of... Well, it's silly, and it's probably nothing."

"Yeah." Bruce replied, trying his best to chuckle. If not for the fact that the Hulk's attack on Tony had been documented in several newspapers, Bruce might have felt that the monster was a figment of his own imagination too, after a while. Still, he doubted that Jennifer's strange impressions were anything to be concerned about.

Even considering the amazing new healing ability that Jennifer had, the idea of her going after the people who'd shot her was a disturbing one to Bruce. He didn't like violence, and he tried to stay clear of violent people. If Jennifer was intent on pursuing and punishing the men who'd shot her, she was going to butt heads with a lot of violent men, and although Bruce knew he couldn't stop her, he truly didn't like hearing that. It was another thing that separated the two of them from one another, but it was also bound to place Jen Walters in a lot of extra danger.

* * *

Jennifer had made many friends in her time as an attorney, and she made sure to let them all know about the people she was trying to track down. Within two days, she'd picked up a rumor. Two men had been seen by one of her former client's friends, traveling from the direction of her father's house, and entering the house of Nick Trask.

Of course, everyone knew that Trask was a crime boss, but no one had ever been able to make any charges stick. However, when Jennifer heard that rumor, it was enough to convince her of the truth, even if she couldn't prove it in a court of law. Trask had been furious with her father for landing his son in the pen, and he'd planned to kill him, but Jennifer had gotten caught in between those bullets and their intended target. Jen wasn't sure she could protect her father from those people forever, though. There was a chance that the thugs might lay low for a while, but her best bet to get to the bottom of it all was to talk to Trask about it in person, particularly since she wasn't afraid of people like him anymore.

Jennifer knocked sharply on the front door to Trask's mansion several times, until it opened from within, and a large, muscular-looking man stood inside, looking down at her.

"Do you need directions or something, miss?" he asked.

"Not if this is where Nicholas Trask lives." Jennifer replied quickly, "I want to talk to him."

"I'll need your name." the thug replied, and she quickly gave it. Then, he was gone, the door closing behind him. In just a minute, however, the door opened again, and Nicholas Trask was on the other side, with two large men behind him. He was a narrow-shouldered man with a strong-looking chin, and a little gray around his ears. He'd obviously been in the business for quite some time; long enough to recognize the ramifications, or lack thereof, of different kinds of crimes.

"Miss Walters." he said, "You wouldn't happen to be related to the Sheriff, would you?"

"I'm his daughter." Jennifer said, "Someone tried to shoot him recently."

"Miss Walters, I'm not going to insult your intelligence by pretending to be horrified by that." Trask replied, "We both know that he recently jailed my son. Don't expect me to be happy with the man."

Jennifer, however, wasn't going to let it stop there.

"There's one more thing." she said, "There were two men here a couple of days ago, who seemed to have come from my father's house. My father doesn't usually have too many visitors at home, aside from myself. I'm convinced those two men were guilty of attempted murder, and I'd like to know where they are."

Trask paused for just a moment before replying "I couldn't tell you, Miss. I don't know who you're talking about. I have a lot of friends who come by here on a regular basis. I don't keep track."

Despite Bruce's advice, however, the man's arrogant demeanor was getting on Jennifer's nerves, and she was starting to lose her temper.

"I said tell me where they are." Jennifer insisted angrily, "Tell me now!"

"Miss, I wish I could help you, but I..."

"Don't play dumb with maaaaagh!"

Jennifer had truly become furious with Trask as he stood there, secure in his simple, yet effective alibi, and as her anger grew and grew, she felt a stabbing pain in her chest, and her rage faded at once, as she keeled over in agony and fear.

* * *

"Jennifer. Jennifer Walters."

Jennifer couldn't tell where the voice had come from, or what it meant, but when it spoke to her, the pain in her head began to lessen.

"Your cousin has given you much. Not only have you been given great power, to use as you see fit, but you have been drawn into the gaze of the many; a gaze which you alone in all of creation can feel and shape. Though Bruce Banner can unlock much power; enough to shake the cosmos, only you will be able to control it. Learn to use your power as it was meant to be used, Jennifer, and you will hold influence over much more than he; influence that you can, perhaps, not even dream of yet. Learn to use your power, Jennifer, and anything will be possible..."

* * *

Suddenly, the pain was gone, and Jennifer found herself awakening on the steps of Trask's mansion, with Trask himself, and his two thugs staring at her in awe and worry. Something was still wrong. She could see the agitation in their faces. Something had happened that was bothering them while she'd been out cold; something bigger than just her losing consciousness.

"What's up with you guys?" Jennifer asked, though she didn't try to get up just yet. She could feel, for some reason, that her clothes were hugging her more tightly than usual, but assumed that it had something to do with the way she'd twisted around when she'd fallen.

"I don't care what you look like." Trask said, "Get off my property."

"What I look like?" Jen asked, shocked and confused as she tried to get up, "What're you talking about?"

Trask quickly motioned to the two men behind him, and they stepped forth, one to grab her by the shoulders, and the other by the legs, but although those two large, muscular men pulled and pulled at her, she couldn't seem to budge her from her place on the ground, and that was when Jennifer started to really wonder what was up.

"I don't get it." one of the men said, giving up, "She's gotta weigh five hundred pounds!"

Jennifer Walters knew for a fact that she weighed precisely one hundred and forty pounds. It was the weight they'd told her when she'd checked out of the hospital, but as she raised one hand, she gasped in shock and amazement. Her skin was bright green, and her arms were longer than she'd ever seen them. They still looked relatively slim, but as she got slowly to her feet, marveling at how fantastically light she felt, she could see that although her general facial features and body shape had remained the same, everything else about her had changed. Every inch of Jennifer's skin was green, and though she'd once been tall for a woman, she'd suddenly been transformed into a true giantess; at least half a foot past six. She found herself, when upright; looking down at even the tallest of Trask's men, but the green skin drew another realization to her. Green, tall, with powerful muscles and talk of a monster that takes over when a person is furious... Jennifer had no doubts about it anymore. Bruce Banner was the Hulk, and whatever strange transformations he'd gone through, she'd gone through something similar. The power in his body had reached its fulfillment in hers. She was becoming very much like the Hulk herself.

"Oh, yeah." Jennifer said as she got to her feet, "I forgot to mention. I'm the She-hulk too."

At once, both men grabbed Jennifer by the arms, but they'd been unable to move her when she'd been on the ground, and since getting her bearings, she wasn't about to give them an easier time. Sure enough, though the men pulled at her arms from each side with both of their own, they couldn't budge her in the slightest, and after giving them as much time as, she thought, a reasonable person would need to get used to the idea, she decided to test out her strength a little, grabbing each of them by their own arms, and lifting them up into the air with ease. Jennifer could feel simply boundless strength flooding through her, and she knew that if she used her full strength against those men, she could easily have killed them, or even thrown them for miles. Instead, she decided to just drop them from three feet up in the air, hoping that the light impact with the ground would prove just as instructive.

However, as Jennifer had lifted the two men up, then let them go, she heard a loud noise from under and around her sleeves and sides, and discovered too late that her clothes had become too tight since the transformation. Lifting up both arms like that had caused her sleeves to tear wide open, inviting the rest of her shirt to start falling apart as well. Her skirt seemed to be alright for the moment, as long as she didn't spread her legs too far apart, and the rest of her clothes were at least made of a strong enough fabric that they were remaining intact, and serving their intended function, which was enough to keep her as modestly-covered as an average bathing suit, but she was definitely going to need a replacement for every piece of clothing she had on before the day was through. Even her strongest articles of clothing were too tight on her. She sighed as she kicked off her shoes to keep from destroying them any more than necessary, and for a moment, she nearly forgot about Trask, muttering "Gee, I hope there's a big and tall women's shop between here and home."

However, as Jennifer had been getting used to her new size, Trask had pulled a gun out of one of the pockets on his jacket, and fired at her.

Jennifer felt the bullet strike her in one arm, but it fell sharply aside afterwards, unable to penetrate her skin, and soon, she felt that slight snapping sensation of the bullets ricocheting off her from behind as well. Both of Trask's thugs had also started firing at her, but she quickly turned around, and grabbed their guns, then crushed them in her hands. In just a second longer, the two thugs seemed to have decided that they didn't want to fight her, and ran for town.

It only took Jennifer a moment to get back to Trask, crushing his gun as well, and lifting him into the air in both hands. He gave a short, sharp scream as she did so, but Jennifer was just smiling by that point.

"I'm not going to hurt you, little guy." Jennifer cooed, thoroughly enjoying the situation, "Just tell me about those two guys, and confess to your part in things."

"Alright! Alright!" Trask exclaimed, terrified, "I was mad that Morris put my boy in jail, so I wanted to take it out of him. I hired those two guys to bump him off. I can even tell you where they've been living..."

Jennifer smiled again, as she shook Nicholas once, to encourage him to continue.

* * *

Jennifer Walters chuckled as she walked up to her house and unlocked the front door. It was late in the afternoon, but the process of gathering up the other two guilty parties, and urging confessions out of the three of them had been a relatively simple matter. The rest of the afternoon had been spent buying a new wardrobe. It was hard to find places that sold women's clothes intended for six-foot seven; her new height.

Still, despite all the challenges, Jennifer was happy, and she couldn't seem to keep the smile off her face. Whatever had happened to her body chemistry, she'd never felt so full of energy, and she liked her new appearance; the size, the strength, the... well, even the green. Jennifer was green all the way down to her hair and eye color. Her skin, her nails, her lips... Of course, if she wanted to, she could have put on lipstick, but the red would, in her mind, have clashed with the green a little too sharply. Besides, she was starting to like having green lips.

As Jennifer stepped into her house that afternoon, feeling on top of the world, she heard two voices from inside, however.

"...went pretty smoothly. Still, we'll need more time to finish teaching them the basics."

"Well, you have more time. We're going to be in LA for three more days, and anything you can't teach them by the end of that time, they'll probably be able to teach to one another. That I can arrange from New York."

Then, footsteps were headed in her direction, and for more than one reason, Jennifer didn't try to hide from whoever was headed towards her. After all, it was her house, and she was, among other things, the strongest woman in the world.

Soon, Jennifer found that Tony Stark was coming out of a doorway, and stopping short as soon as he saw her.

Tony looked shocked and amazed, then looked Jennifer up and down once or twice, then looked directly into her face, and, in spite of everything that was different about her, he recognized her.

"J-Jennifer?" Tony asked, shocked and horrified by the sight.

"Hi, Mister Stark."

"Just... Just came by to drop off... Bruce's... phone..." however, Tony's words were fading as he drew several conclusions at once. Tony Stark was one of the most brilliant men in the world, and seeing what had happened to Jennifer Walters, he would draw several quick conclusions about why, and that, in turn, would lead him to a realization of who, precisely, had damaged his heart in the first place.

"Bruce!" Tony exclaimed furiously, rushing back into the other room the way he'd come. Jennifer followed at a safe distance, banging her head on one of the door frames on the way in by accident.

"Bruce." Tony said, while standing in front of the scientist, who was seated on the couch again, "I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you had nothing to do with the Hulk."

Bruce, however, wasn't looking at Tony at all. He was just staring at Jennifer. In a moment, he'd gotten to his feet, and rushed over to where she was standing, asking "Jennifer? Are you still you?"

"Huh?" Jennifer asked, "Of course I'm still me, Bruce. I got a little mad, just once, but I'm definitely not a monster or anything. I'm still myself."

"Wait." Bruce said, "You're in a good mood now? You don't mind being... well, green?"

"Well, it's a little weird, but I could get used to it." Jennifer replied, "Why?"

"Well, I never... I mean..."

Bruce had been about to say that he never stayed in Hulk mode when he wasn't mad, and that he didn't remember being the Hulk even when it happened, but that was when he remembered that Tony was there. The worst thing, though, was that Tony had obviously figured out at least part of what had happened.

"I don't believe this, Bruce." Tony replied angrily, "This whole time, you tried to pass yourself off as my friend... my savior... but you... you were the Hulk, weren't you? You changed, just like her. That's why you were afraid to give her your blood."

"No!" Bruce exclaimed, "Not just like her. I mean... I... Tony, I never wanted to hide this from you, but I was afraid you wouldn't understand."

"What?" Tony asked, "What don't I understand? Tell me, Bruce."

"I only change when I really get furious." Bruce replied quickly, "I'm not in control as the Hulk, and afterwards, I don't remember anything he did. The Hulk is a monster that takes over when I'm really upset. He's not me."

"So you're trying to tell me you're nothing like her; that you're a totally different person when you change." Tony replied angrily.

"Yes!" Bruce exclaimed, close to panic.

"I can't believe you expect me to swallow that." Tony exclaimed, his own fury growing, "Whether you were in control or not during the attack, you knew who the Hulk was, and yet, when I told you I wanted to repay you for saving my life, you cashed in, didn't you?"

"I... I just wanted things to go back to the way they were!" Bruce exclaimed, close to desperation, "I wouldn't have gotten so mad if you hadn't tried to move me off the gamma reactor project, and I wanted to work on it again. I figured; this way, things could just go back to normal, and as long as I kept my anger under control, I wouldn't have to worry about..."

"But you didn't think I deserved to know the truth!" Tony shouted furiously, "You were going to keep this from me for the rest of your life, weren't you?"

"Tony, stop it." Bruce muttered, but Tony couldn't even hear him.

"You had no right to lie and keep lying to my face, Bruce. If you're so innocent, why did you...?"

"Tony!" Bruce exclaimed furiously, and then suddenly, a much deeper voice came out of his throat, as he began to turn green, growing larger and larger, and causing his clothes to tear themselves apart as he did so, "Stop it!"

In seconds, the large, green shoulders of the Hulk were pushing against the ceiling of Jen's apartment, as Tony Stark began to back away from the monstrous, green creature; a horrible fury in its eyes.

Swiftly, the Hulk lashed out with his arms, his reach so enormous,. that Tony was only barely able to avoid the first swipe, and even so, that swipe created a blast of wind that threw him into the air, knocking him against one of the walls. In seconds, the Hulk had lunged forward and seized Tony Stark in one hand around the throat.

"Bruce! Bruce, don't do this!" Tony exclaimed desperately as he felt those inhuman fingers clenching tightly around him, "Banner! You don't really want to hurt me!"

"Banner doesn't want to hurt Tony." The Hulk replied, still furiously, "That is because Banner is puny and weak! Banner is a fool!"

Tony, however, still didn't understand.

"Are you trying to trick me again, Bruce?" Tony asked, but it was the wrong question to ask, and in a moment, Tony Stark saw the look in the eyes of the Hulk again; that look as if Tony Stark was someone he'd only recently met, and had never considered a friend. Bruce Banner and the Hulk were most definitely not the same.

"Hulk does not trick his enemies." the monster replied, "Hulk smashes them!"

However, just as it seemed that the Hulk was about to make good on his threat, Jennifer lunged forward, grabbing the large behemoth by the legs, and knocking him over. In the chaos, Tony felt the Hulk's unnaturally-strong fingers releasing him, and he hit the floor hard a moment later with a sharp clang, as the metal that still covered his chest struck the ground. However, the Hulk's attention was diverted, for the moment, which meant that Tony had a chance to get away, and take some kind of action. He was convinced that Banner and the Hulk had no control over one another, but he was also convinced that the Hulk himself was a very real threat to people's lives, and that meant that he needed to be stopped.

His body was aching all over, but still, Tony Stark managed to get outside in a big hurry, and pulled out his cell phone, then said "Get me General Ross. There's a big problem at Jennifer Walter's house. We may need military support. It's the Hulk."

Then, in just a moment, the house started to collapse, and Tony had to duck out of the way, as the two large, green figures burst through walls and furniture, wrestling with each other as they fell to the pavement outside, breaking it in a hundred places.

* * *

Though he'd had any number of other important duties in the military, one of the things that General Ross had specialized in, and which had led him to earn his third star, was the plans and diagrams he'd designed to assist the military in immobilizing, capturing, or otherwise dealing with people who had superhuman powers. His diagrams and charts of the various strengths and weaknesses of the Submariner had initially drawn some scorn, until Namor himself had attacked New York. At that point, the idea of developing a solid defense from superhuman attack had become a somewhat more palatable one in the military.

Of course, Ross had studied the news footage of all the recently-surfacing superhumans as well. The Fantastic Four, Spider-man, the unfortunate Avengers... Ross had himself felt a little sad when they'd been defeated, and not just because it made his charts regarding them obsolete. He wasn't totally opposed to the idea of employing the help of one superhuman to stop another. It was, after all, the way things had been done during the war.

However, the one that had worried Ross the most had been the Hulk. Of all the superhumans he'd seen footage of, the Hulk had been the only one who'd never displayed any physical weakness, and what's more, he'd seemed to just appear, then disappear flawlessly and effortlessly. As long as the Hulk could keep hiding, then surface anywhere, at any time, he was an enormous threat.

When he'd gotten the call, Ross had seen an opportunity, however. Finally, he knew just where the Hulk was, and he had a chance to learn more about his strengths and weaknesses; maybe even truly stop him. Quickly, Ross began making phone calls.

* * *

Jennifer had been holding back the lion's share of her strength all day for fear of hurting someone, but when fighting with the Hulk, she knew she couldn't hold back anymore. Again and again, the two struck each other, and each felt the blows of the other, and rapidly grew more furious.

As they fought, Jennifer started leaping quickly away from the remains of her house, trying to get to the outskirts of LA, where there was less of a risk of people being hurt, and sure enough, the Hulk followed her, himself leaping huge distances with his powerful legs. At last, the two found themselves in a large suburb, nearly a mile from the city itself, with trees on one side, and houses on the other, and there, the Hulk moved to grab Jennifer, and she, in turn, reached up and grabbed his hands in her own. Each braced their legs hard against the ground as they struggled to overpower the other, but as mad as they were both becoming, they were dead even.

"Why do you try to stop Hulk, green woman?" Hulk asked.

"Tony Stark doesn't deserve to die just because he made you mad." Jennifer replied, "Even if you really are a different person now, Bruce, you must realize that..."

"Do not confuse us!" the Hulk roared, fresh fury suddenly boiling in his veins, "Banner is puny! Hulk is the strongest one there is!"

Then, the Hulk got the upper hand, and kicked Jennifer in the gut. It hurt quite a bit as she plunged through the nearby forest, knocking down several trees in a row. That was when she heard the sound of helicopter blades, and looked up to see that one was descending towards the Hulk. It had large guns; one on each side, and was already taking aim with them.

"Idiots." Jennifer muttered as she rushed to her feet again, but the Hulk had already seized a fallen tree in one hand, as the high-caliber artillery shells slapped harmlessly against his skin.

"It's not working, sir." the helicopter pilot radioed to the general, "He doesn't even look like he's feeling it at all."

"If shells don't work, bullets won't." the general said, "Back off a little, then deploy the knockout gas. It may affect everybody in the neighborhood, but we have to risk it."

However, just then, the Hulk had thrown the tree trunk like a javelin at the helicopter, and Jennifer didn't have a choice anymore. Quickly, she leaped in the direction of the helicopter, and grabbed it out of the path of the flying tree, landing on the other side of the neighborhood before she tossed it back skyward, and hoping that the pilot was skilled enough to get away before it was too late. In another moment, however, the Hulk had slugged her again in mid-leap, and their fight began once more.

Though initially, Jennifer had been going toe to toe with the brute, it seemed that the time and effort she'd spent rescuing the helicopter pilot had drained some of her steam. She was definitely feeling the Hulk's blows more, and hers seemed to be doing less damage.

"Are you okay, Jordan?" the general asked through the radio, and was relieved to hear a reply.

"Yes, sir. Don't bring in the reinforcements just yet. He almost got me, but there's another one out here too; a woman. She saved me."

"Can you still deploy the gas?" the general asked.

"Yes, sir." the pilot replied, "I don't know if it'll work, though."

Quickly, Jordan pulled the lever to the left of his dashboard display as he got to almost directly above where the two combatants were fighting, and at once, the dull yellow gas emerged from the left side of the helicopter as it circled around. Out of the corners of their eyes, both Jennifer and the Hulk noticed what was happening, and Jennifer started to feel hopeful about it. Against the Hulk, there was a chance that gas might do the trick, but in a moment, the Hulk had struck her to one side, freeing both of his hands as the gas descended towards him. Then, in a couple of swift, connected motions, the Hulk brought both hands together with a resounding crash.

Jennifer had never heard such a loud noise in all her life. Violent vibrations filled the air, reminding her of just how strong she and her cousin had become. Those vibrations shattered every window for almost a mile, and disbursed the gas harmlessly away from the two of them. That gas would even had overtaken the helicopter pilot himself, except that he was able to fly out of the way in time.

After struggling for a minute to get the helicopter back under control, Jordan made his report.

"Sir, he knocked the gas away somehow by clapping his hands. The second canister's still intact, but if he can just use that clapping trick again, it won't do us much good."

"What about the woman you mentioned?" Ross asked, "Do you think she'd be willing to help us?"

However, as Jordan looked out the window at the two big, green fighters, he saw a sight that filled him with hope again. She-Hulk had grabbed the Hulk from behind, around the arms, and was holding onto him tightly. She wouldn't be able to keep him in that wrestling hold for very long, but as long as she did, he couldn't bring his hands together.

"The big guy's arms are stuck!" Jordan exclaimed.

"Go!" the general ordered him. In just a moment more, Jordan had pulled the other lever, and the second canister opened up, releasing its contents onto the neighborhood below. Jennifer and the Hulk fought for consciousness simultaneously as the dull yellow fumes surrounded them, but at the end of a minute, both were out cold.

* * *

In just a few hours, however, Jennifer woke up. The gas was dissipating harmlessly, and she was one of the first to regain consciousness. As she woke, the first person she saw was Tony Stark, whom she recognized by his suit, despite the gas mask he was wearing over his face.

"Feeling alright?" Tony asked through the mask, but Jennifer just shook her head.

"No." she said a little irritably, "I still feel like there are people watching me. Where's Bruce? We need to talk."

"He's still out cold." Tony replied, "He changed back as soon as he lost consciousness."

"That's good..." Jennifer admitted, feeling and sounding truly relieved, "I wonder why I didn't change back too, though."

"Beats me." Tony said, "I don't even think Bruce understands all the differences between the two of you."

"You can take the mask off now, Mister Stark." a young man from nearby said. He was dressed in an air force uniform and looking, Jen thought, very professional after all the havoc she'd just been through.

In just a moment, Tony had removed his mask, and Jennifer had to work to gather up the courage to ask her next question.

"So, does Bruce still have a job?"

Tony just sighed. He clearly didn't know; which Jennifer found worrying.

"Bruce is a brilliant man." Tony said, "If he ever wants to come back to work at Stark Enterprises, the position's open, no questions asked, but something tells me he's got other issues that he plans on resolving first."

* * *

Bruce had needed to fight with himself pretty hard to keep from losing his cool again when he'd woken up in the middle of a military base, not sure where he was, when or even if he'd be released. The room that he was in was a basic meeting room with two locked doors; one on each end. It had a table in the center, with chairs all around it, and an armchair off to one side. Bruce had been positioned across that armchair when he'd woken up, and after the cobwebs had cleared, it had only taken a few minutes before someone stepped into the room. It was just about the last person that Bruce had wanted to see, however.

"Well," General Ross said as he took a seat at the table, "let's start at the top, shall we?"

"Is Tony alright?" Bruce inquired. It was the first thing he wanted to know, and for him, the most important.

"Mister Stark?" the general asked, looking a little surprised by the question, "Well, he's got a few bruises, but nothing's broken, thanks to the cooperation of Miss Walters."

"Jennifer?" Bruce asked, amazed, "Are you saying she stopped the Hulk?"

"Don't you remember?" the general asked, seeming suspicious as he asked the question.

"General Ross, I don't remember anything that the Hulk does." Bruce responded, looking totally exhausted as he spoke, "We may fight over the same body, but we're not the same person."

The general nodded once, then again, as if trying in vain to accept the idea. At last, it was plain that he still didn't believe Bruce, but he was willing to give him a chance.

"Look, Doctor Banner." the General said, "From what I've seen, the Hulk is capable of doing a great deal of harm to many thousands of people; maybe even millions. If you're really the kind of man who loves peace, you must be eager to be rid of him for good."

Bruce wasn't sure he'd heard that right at first, but after a moment, he nodded quickly, delighted by the very notion.

"Do you mean there might be a way to prevent me from ever turning into the Hulk again?" Bruce asked, hope in his voice at last. That hope encouraged the general, just a little, in the proposal he was about to make.

"If something can be done to a person, it can also be undone." the general replied, "Given the damage the Hulk has done already; I've been authorized to put much of the military's resources at your disposal for the purpose of ending this threat once and for all. Of course, there aren't any government scientists who know as much as yourself about Gamma Waves, but with your permission, we'd like to keep you here while you try to find a cure for those transformations. In exchange, you'll be given full access to all available medical and scientific technology in your future experiments, as long as you're still trying to find a cure."

To Bruce, the offer was a bittersweet one. The idea of finding a cure to prevent him from transforming was hopeful, but it was definitely going to eat up large sections of his life, and it meant that, at least for a while, he couldn't go back to New York. He knew that, in the end, he'd wind up accepting the general's offer, but he needed to talk to Tony one more time before he could really start working on a cure.

* * *

"Tony? Are you there?"

"Bruce?" Tony asked into his cell phone, "What happened?"

"We'll have to cancel the rest of the lectures for a while, Tony." Bruce replied in some disappointment through the phone, "I just hope the other scientists picked up enough to get by already."

"I figured." Tony noted, "Bruce, what's going on? Will I ever see you again?"

"Tony, if you ever need my advice in the future, just call me at this number. I'll still be here. I'm going to be spending some time trying to find a cure for my... condition. I'm sorry about what happened."

"I shouldn't have snapped like I did." Tony replied sadly, "You weren't responsible for what happened."

"I feel really bad about what happened to Jennifer's house too..." Bruce began, but Tony interrupted him.

"No, don't." he said, "I'm putting her up in a hotel until I can get her more suitable accommodations. I mean, it is basically my fault that you transformed like that..."

Bruce didn't argue with that, but he did sound sad, as he said, "Thank you, Tony. I guess that should give me some peace of mind."

"But it doesn't." Tony noticed aloud.

"No, it does." Bruce replied, trying to alleviate Tony's worries, "It's just that I wish there'd been some way for the Hulk's strength to be used for good. If he'd only been less driven by rage, he could have been a great hero."

However, when he heard the word "hero," Tony Stark started feeling more miserable than ever, and hung up the phone almost at once. He could do his best to protect Bruce from the ramifications of the Hulk's uncontrollable rampages, but if Bruce needed consolation over the loss of heroes in the modern age, Tony Stark was the worst person he could possibly have asked.

* * *

Morris Walters was trying his best to study the most recent legal developments in the county when he heard a knock at his front door. He was pretty sure he knew what to expect as he got up and opened it, and sure enough, the routine was about to begin all over again.

Ever since Jennifer Walters had been just a little girl, she'd always gone to her father for advice and guidance whenever she was feeling really confused, lost or sad, and even as an adult woman, that trend had continued. In some respects, Morris had been expecting a visit from her since her transformation into the She-Hulk, but he'd also sort of been hoping that she'd begin to break the trend. It wasn't good, after all, for an adult woman to go to her father over every little thing. She wasn't a little girl anymore, although Morris could never have told her that aloud.

Indeed, as Morris opened the door, and looked up into his daughter's bright green eyes, he could see quite plainly that she was even less of a little girl than she'd been at the start of the week. Still, he was cordial, and invited her inside.

"I wasn't even sure I should drop by, dad," Jennifer said quickly, as she crossed the room and collapsed into the old, wooden armchair she always sat in, "but after all that's happened, I just needed someone to... whoa!"

Jennifer had shouted that last exclamation in surprise and alarm, because as soon as she'd sat down in that chair, there had been a sharp, creaking sound, and in moments, the entire chair collapsed under her, its legs splitting into pieces, as she fell to the floor with a loud crash.

"Are you alright, honey?" Morris asked, trying to help her up, although it was a hopeless cause for anyone but herself.

"Yeah..." she muttered, getting back to her feet, "Maybe I needed that."

For a few seconds, neither of them said a word as Jennifer stood upright and started to explain herself.

"I always used to come here, and sit in that chair whenever I needed guidance, but I guess I've outgrown it in more ways than one. Dad, who do you go to for advice?"

"Me?" Morris asked, feeling encouraged by the question, "I try to remember the things I've learned, and the people I learned them from. In particular, I try to remember the people I respected, and think of what they'd do in my place, but I don't really go to anyone for encouragement."

"I didn't think so." Jennifer said, "Actually, I just dropped by to tell you that... well, for a lot of reasons, I'm not going to be coming here as often anymore. I just... don't want to feel like a child anymore, and ask your advice over every little thing. I want to be able to grow up, and make my own choices... I just wanted to make sure you understood, and didn't take it the wrong way. And... uh... I'm sorry about the chair."

"Actually, it makes me very happy to hear that." Morris replied with a loving smile, "Don't worry about hurting my feelings, Jenny, I'm just glad to see my daughter becoming such a fine young woman. Also, don't worry about the chair. It's served its purpose already."

"I guess there's just one last thing I wanted to know, then, before I go." Jennifer said, still smiling, "Do grown-up women still get to hug their fathers?"

"All the ones I know." Morris replied, and as the two embraced that last time before she left his house again, Jennifer knew that one way or another, she was about to grow up. In fact, maybe the biggest adventures of her life were still around the corner.

* * *

End

* * *

Well, the first year's worth of Marvel Neo is behind us, and the origin stories are coming to a close for the most part. New characters will continue to be introduced in the future, but from now on, you'll really start to notice how Marvel Neo differs from previous Marvels. Pretty much everything up to this point has been building up towards issue 13; "What Doesn't Kill You." It's the first of a two-part story, and it's going to severely change the lives of all of Marvel's heroes, and many villains as well. There are plans to create a new team, which will contain many old favorites, many who've never really joined a team before, some who've never worked well with others in mainstream Marvel, and one in particular who never before accepted the offer to be a hero. One thing's for sure; you've never seen a team like this one. I hope you'll be there for the first assembly on the first of August. See you then.

-Bra1n1ac-


	13. Issue 13: What Doesn't Kill You Part 1

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 13

"What Doesn't Kill You"

Part 1 of 2

* * *

There were many things about Tony Stark that he never let others see. The Iron Hall was probably his largest and most important secret. Only a few people in the world even knew it existed, because anyone who discovered the Iron Hall discovered that Tony Stark had, in fact, once been Iron Man.

However, there was another room that was even more secret; a room that no one but Tony Stark himself knew about, and that was his clipping room.

Ever since the disastrous disbanding of the Avengers nearly a year before, Tony had been tacking newspaper clippings up in that room, spending at least fifteen minutes picking clips out of newspapers each day, and another half hour looking over them all, and letting his mind drift into the realms of what might have been. No one else could know about it, because it would make his stockholders realize just how much weaker he'd become in his heart over the last year, in that time that weighed so heavily on him, that it seemed to have happened only the day before.

Tony Stark had just added five new clippings to his collection, tacking them to the walls of the room, with no intention of ever removing them, and rapid thoughts that might once have gone into the creation of a new armor improvement, or some other kind of new technological marvel began to dart back and forth between the words on the clippings as they always did, each and every night.

"...seemed to recover the moment he hit the water, and then retaliated with..."

"...said to be the ruler of Latveria, as well as a brilliant, if unscrupulous genius..."

"...appeared to fire some kind of adhesive webbing from the palms of his hands..."

Again and again, Tony's eyes glanced across the clippings, each one old data that he'd collected, and yet, it was a world he couldn't escape, and night after night, he would tend to it...

"...single-handedly rescued over a dozen people purported to be mutants using unusual powers seeming to center around the shaping of metal..."

"...found him to be, in reality, a pitiable man, lashing out at the world from his underground home..."

"...held up the remains of the collapsing building with his long, green arms..."

"...was seen flying over the skyscrapers of Los Angeles by tourists..."

Then Stark's eyes glanced in the other direction, towards the clippings across the room, many of which contained information on foreign affairs...

"...Canadian expert said to be able to heal with unnatural speed..."

"...mysterious vigilante with the skill of a master detective..."

"...with a single shout, the entire artificial hurricane seemed to evaporate from within..."

Then, manically, his eyes darted back to the headlines on the side of the room...

"...questioned, all agreed that they were ambushed by the devil."

"...said to be attempting to create a method of traveling through hyperspace..."

"...agreed that he was the finest marksman they'd ever seen..."

"...referred to his skills as being rooted in genuine magic."

However, it was on that night, that Tony Stark first realized a part of what had been haunting him all that time, and he knew what it was that he needed most desperately.

For the first night in almost a year, Tony Stark left his clipping room after having spent under five minutes in it, and put on his coat, then actually left the building on foot. It was as good a night as any for a walk, and besides, he wasn't sure he wanted a chauffeur to see where he was headed...

* * *

It took Tony a couple of hours to reach the place, largely because it looked like just an ordinary private practitioner's office from the outside; positioned neatly within an average-looking apartment building, but the name on the plaque, outside the door matched that of the man he was looking for, so Tony, not seeing a doorbell, knocked on the door several times. After a few seconds, he heard a voice from within asking "Are you here to see Steven Strange?"

"Yes!" Tony replied in a half-shout, "It's urgent!"

Quickly, the sound of locks being unlocked, and bolts being undone came from inside the apartment building, and finally, the door opened, and Mister Stark stepped inside.

The inside of the place, of course, was far different from the outside in appearance, size and function. Steven Strange had needed to work for five months on an enchantment that could accomplish that; making the inside of his Sanctum Sanctorum larger than its outer appearance, through trans-dimensional manipulation. It had been hard, grueling work, and had expended his bodily and astral reserves almost completely, but in exchange, it gave him all the room he needed to collect, archive and accumulate information, artifacts, and mystic tools, because Doctor Steven Strange was the planet Earth's greatest sorcerer.

"Tony Stark, I presume?" Steven Strange asked, approaching him in his civilian attire of a simple, white collared shirt, black pants, shoes, and a gold-plated wristwatch. Strange wore neither tie, nor jacket, and had both hands in his pockets as he approached.

"Steven!" Tony exclaimed.

"Tony!" Steven replied, "How long's it been? Eleven months since the funeral, if I remember right..."

Tony's face fell when he heard those words, so Steven rushed to correct the misconception.

"Now, cheer up. I'm not blaming you for ignoring me. In fact, I've made good use of the extra time. I should say my 'faculties' are nearly double what they were the last time we met, but I'm sure you've improved as well, Tony. You always did."

"Only tonight." Tony responded. A confusing response to be sure, but the only one he could truthfully give.

"Tony, what's the matter?" Steven asked, "Have you been like this all the time since the funeral? You look half dead."

"Half of me died with them." Tony remarked, still refusing to look into Strange's eyes.

"Maybe we'd better speak of this in private." Strange said after spending a few seconds in silence, closing his front door and locking it, then beckoning Tony Stark into a nearby room, after which he closed and locked that as well. It was a study of sorts, with a desk, couch, three padded chairs and a blotter on the desk. Nearly every wall in the room was lined with bookshelves. Each and every one was stuffed so far with books, that Tony had a feeling that magic alone must be keeping the setup intact. However, he collapsed on the couch almost immediately, barely looking at anything else, and put one hand over his face, as Doctor Strange seated himself in a chair across from that couch, like a professional therapist.

"Now, you're troubled by something less than a year old. I know that much." Strange said, "What is it?"

"It's because I finally know what I really want." Tony admitted sadly, "But no matter how much money I have, I can't get it."

"Well, it's human nature to want what you can't have." Strange replied offhandedly, "Perhaps that's why you've only recently realized what you want."

"It's worse that that, Steven." Tony gasped desperately, "I've been blind to it for so long, that this want has become a need. I need... I need to be a hero again. I need to help people, and I need support in that. That... that's why I've come to you."

For several moments, Strange had his eyes closed, as though thoroughly digesting the new information. When he opened them again, he said, "You are a hero, Tony. As Iron Man, you..."

"The chest plate that later became the centerpiece of Iron Man was created" Tony Stark interrupted him, "to save one person's life; my own. Since then, I've pretty much only used him for my own profit, or else, when it seemed like the only thing I could do that was decent, but part of that may have been peer pressure. Then at the wake, when Captain America gave that wonderful eulogy, and I memorized every word... Those words stuck with me. A while later, it occurred to me to ask myself if those same words might apply to me if I'd been the one who died, and I had to answer... no."

Again, Strange was silent for several seconds, that time with his eyes open, before he spoke again.

"So, what have you decided to do about that?"

"I'm redesigning Iron Man from the ground up, for one thing." Stark replied, "The example those two set was so powerful, it overwhelmed me. I have to try to be more like they were."

"You mentioned support." Strange commented, "You weren't suggesting an alliance, were you?"

"Not really, no." Stark admitted sadly, "In the old days, you could use magic spells to send people to other realms... I want you... I want you to send me to some plain where the avengers exist."

"Now that's a very serious request." Strange replied, looking deeply somber as he truly considered it, then spoke again, "If I were to agree to that, do you mean you'd want to travel to a realm where the Avengers exist as a team, or one where Jan and Hank never died?"

Stark stopped there for a moment, shock and confusion all over his face. As much as it was destroying him emotionally, he could tell that a great deal of his progression into a person of character had been due to the sacrifice of Hank and Jan.

"I just wish Captain America hadn't disbanded the team." Tony said, "We could have got some new members and done some genuine good for people."

"You're saying you'd like the opportunity to change the world." Steven Strange replied, that time with a glimmer in his eye, "I want that same opportunity, but as powerful as my magic is, I could never do it alone."

"I didn't come here to help you shape the destiny of the world." Tony replied, "I came here to find out what I have to do to be allowed to join the Avengers again."

"Well, if all you want is to be part of the world's greatest team of heroes," Strange said, "That may not even require traveling to another realm. If you tried to make the trip, you might well die in the space between worlds, or else, you'd be leaving behind your friends and your company, and so you'd exist only as Iron Man in the other world. There are complications to any trans-dimensional travel, you see... But if what you want is to bring back the Avengers... Well, then why don't we just do it?"

"I don't understand." Tony said, "Do you mean we can just form a new team, just like that? A new Avengers?"

"Yes, I think it's possible." Strange replied, "There are still quite a lot heroes in the world, and more have been surfacing every month. If you're willing to give it a try, I'll bet the two of us could contact just about every potential member in under a week. Would that make you happy?"

"It would be a whole lot better than sitting around doing nothing!" Tony exclaimed, rising to his feet, the old passion returning to his gaze, "Yes! We'll give it a try."

"Now, who would you suggest first?" Steven asked, and swiftly, the two began to draw their plans...

* * *

Tony's plans had been surprisingly complete once he'd realized what had to be done, and among the most brilliant aspects of those plans were his attempts to extend the hand of friendship to many of those who were previously considered enemies. After all, when a villain reforms, it's truly the best eventuality.

"Doom?"

"Doom, are you there?"

"Be gone, Strange."

"Doom, we need to talk."

"I could simply activate my psychic scrambler, and unbalance your mind as you attempt to contact me. It would take you months to recover, even considering your... unique talents."

"Please, Doom. Listen to me. I'm not trying to hurt you. Some friends and I are forming a new alliance, and we were hoping you might consider joining."

That time, Doom's eyes, which had been unflinching, even when Strange first contacted him telepathically, opened wide with surprise.

"What would your little group be trying to do?" Doom asked.

"Trying to do?"

"Yes. It's vital that you have a cause to fight for."

"Well, liberty and justice for all, I suppose."

Doom leaned back in his seat, confident once more in his decision.

"A pity. Justice is enforced very strongly in Latveria, but I find liberty for all to be too restrictive. Only my guidance can ensure that justice is done."

For a moment, Doctor Strange thought of leaving it at that, but Doom was too powerful to not be worth giving a second chance.

"Doom, think about this. You could clean your record; become a hero..."

"In some ways... to some people, I'm a hero already." Doom explained without hesitation, "As for the heroes of your own country, they're known also for being reviled. Look no further than the pages of your own Daily Bugle for evidence of that. In Latveria, a paper mocking Doom would be forbidden. I see no reason to subject myself to the scorn of lesser men."

"In fact," Doom continued, "No, don't bother replying, Strange. In fact, I'm surprised you'd call me at all. You know that my greatest obsession is with helping mankind by controlling their fates. As part of a team, my control becomes limited, even if you were all willing to help me in my endeavors, and though it may be blunt in the extreme, Strange, even if I did wish to join a team, there are very few people in the world I have more reason to dislike than yourself. Now, be gone."

"Alright, Doom." Strange replied sadly, "I'm sorry we couldn't work this out."

Then he was gone, and Doom activated the scrambler, just to be safe.

"Yes." he muttered as he sat alone in the dining room of his castle, looking over some reports, "A dreadful pity."

* * *

The phone rang repeatedly for several minutes in the laboratory of Doctor Bruce Banner before he finally picked it up, and was actually very surprised by who was at the other end.

"Bruce? Is this you?"

"Tony? Why are you calling me? I haven't found the solution yet, you know."

"I know. I'm calling because I was wondering if you'd consider joining me in a little venture."

"If this has to do with a high-budget experiment on the effects of gamma radiation on human cells..."

"Well, it could probably lead to something like that."

Bruce sighed. He knew what Tony wanted, but he had to turn him down.

"Sorry, Tony." he said, "The Hulk is still too much of a threat. I can't get anywhere near you. But... well... If you're looking for help..."

* * *

"I'm intrigued by the nature of your request." the man said, his long, purple cape flowing in the astral breeze, as thoughts dashed back and forth past the duo, "In fact, that interest alone nearly caused me to accept your offer at once. Certainly, justice for all is a cause to be preferred, and I'm no stranger to fighting for causes..."

"So what holds you back?" Doctor Strange asked, "Why won't you join us?"

"Have I given you any reason to think that I wish to be a hero to the human race?" Magneto asked.

"This isn't about one race over another." Doctor Strange replied, "We're also extending the hand of friendship to the Submariner, and several other non-humans in addition to yourself. Our goal will be to promote peace and fairness, while helping others as a team, and continuing in our own lives as individuals as well."

"A pretty dream." Magneto said, "I too believe in establishing a peaceful, just relationship between humans and mutantkind, but unlike yourself, I don't believe it will be so easy. Humans fear anything they can't control, and that's what being a mutant is all about; being beyond the control of ordinary men. Soon, humans will begin to recognize mutants as a threat, and when they do, they will attempt to lash out against us in terror. The only thing a terrified human understands is force. Are you prepared to promote peace and fairness with force, Doctor Strange?"

For several moments, Strange honestly thought about it, but his answer was never really in doubt.

"We can't become tyrants, Magneto. You know that."

"Then, I fear I can't count on you to do what needs to be done," Magneto replied, looking simply sad as he spoke, "and I can't allow myself to be bound by the rules of your team, no matter how dearly I wish for the camaraderie."

Then the presence of the Master of Magnetism vanished from Doctor Strange's astral view without so much as a "farewell," and Strange felt true sadness over having lost such a promising and intelligent man to cynicism and bitterness.

However, he continued to the next name on his list.

* * *

Iron Man had certainly changed since the old days. Electronic circuits hooked up to servo-motors to augment strength, magnetic propulsion through the air, instead of using conventional jets, and of course, the micro-transistors that the suit itself ran on had diminished to nearly one tenth the size they'd been only one year previous. It allowed Iron Man not only a greater range of motion in mid-flight, but also, to fly almost completely silently at subsonic speeds. He could also fly even faster than sound, but that made a good deal of noise.

Iron Man's on-board computer scanned the images on the horizon, until a precise impulse from his thoughts forced the computers to recognize the approaching Baxter Building as their target to land, and attractor beams concealed in the shoulders of his armor were fired out to grab the sturdiest sections of the building's construction, and smooth Iron Man's landing, making it not only safe, but comfortable.

There, on top of the building, stood Doctor Reed Richards, alias Mister Fantastic, with a sad look on his face.

"I got your message, Iron Man." Richards said.

"Well?" Iron Man asked, though with a sense of dread in his heart.

"I'm sorry." Richards replied, closing his eyes, "I can't join you; at least not yet."

"What?" Iron Man was confused, "Why not? You're one of the best men I could think of. If this is about what happened to the first Avengers..."

"No, it's not." Richards tried to assure him, "Well, not really. But you see, you're about to form a new team, and every new team has to be united by something they have in common. Since I don't know what that's going to be yet, or what you're going to stand for, or even how you plan on carrying out missions, I'm afraid joining you would be premature. I have several projects I'm working on that keep me busy for most of the time, but more importantly, with a public identity like mine, I can't be too careful in making decisions about what I commit to. Sorry, Iron Man. Maybe in a few months, if I like what I've seen, you can come back and ask me again, but for the moment... For the moment, the answer's no."

Iron Man was very saddened to hear that. In fact, as his second failure in a row, he was starting to get discouraged, but he forced himself once more to remember the sacrifices of Janet and Hank; everything they'd done and believed in. He couldn't give up. He had a larger duty than that.

With only a short, discouraged word of goodbye to Doctor Richards, Iron Man fired his magnetic repulsors, taking to the air again.

However, as Iron Man took off, other figures watched from nearby, on the building's roof; four other figures, each forming their own opinions about what was going on...

* * *

Spider-man watched the men down below as they approached the truck that had just pulled up. He could see, as he silently shifted one hand along the roof he was sitting on, that the two guys on one side were handing a small stack of cards to the central man on the left, flanked by two other, larger men, who'd clearly been hired to make sure the deal went smoothly. It was typical, drug-dealer behavior, but of course, Spidey decided to wait until they showed the loot anyway, taking a photograph silently with his camera, as they made the transaction. Only a moment later, the back of the car opened, and Spidey crawled over, until he could get a good look at it, then took another photo of the goods inside, and put his camera in a convenient location, setting the timer to take shots at regular intervals as he leapt into action. The bigger men down below were definitely professionals. They had guns, and they were pretty good shots, but it didn't save them, and pretty soon, Spider-Man was standing over them as the smaller man tried to scramble into the still-open truck, and the other two fled to their own car.

Out shot webbing, and Spider-man had the dealer, but by the time he got those three all nice and webby, the others had wandered off somewhere in that vehicle of theirs, so Spider-Man retrieved his camera, and was in hot pursuit. Before too long, he'd caught up to the car, which he recognized from its license plate, and landed on the hood, causing the hoods inside to, fortunately for them, screech to a halt. In only a moment, Spider-Man had dismounted, and lifted the front of the car, shaking it around as the crooks inside screamed, then let it gently back down again, and got ready to leap, but those crooks were smart; getting out of the car, and putting their hands on their heads. Pretty nice behavior, but Spidey webbed them a little just to be safe, taking them back to their friends in the alleyway, and leaving behind a few key photographs to inform whoever found them of what they'd been doing. The rest of it; which meant the web, would speak for itself.

However, as Spider-man left the scene of the crime, to continue his patrol of the city, he heard a voice that sounded like it was coming from very nearby.

"Spider-man! Spider-man, can you hear me?"

Quickly, Spider-man landed on a rooftop that wasn't too far away, and started to speak; "Um, sure, mister... voice in my head?"

"No." said the voice again, "I'm Doctor Strange."

At once, it all became clear to Spider-man what was going on, so he replied more confidently, "Oh, yeah; the devil doctor. What's up, doc?"

"Spider-man, I and another person you know as Iron Man have been searching for brave individuals with courage and strength to form a new team. We believe it's important, especially in these troubled times, to be able to present a united front against injustice and evil, and your name was among the first that was brought up."

"Wow." Spider-man muttered. He hadn't been in the super-hero business long; no more than a year, in fact, so he was a little surprised to hear that he'd been such a first-round pick for a team full of big-shots like Iron Man. On the one hand, it was certainly flattering, but on the other...

"Sorry, Doc." Spider-man replied sadly, "I'd love to help, but I've sorta got a life outside of crime-busting, and it's getting in the way a lot as it is..."

"Iron Man has the same problems," Strange replied, "but after being a part of the Avengers, he found that he couldn't resist the desire to be part of a team. Please, Spider-man. Won't you at least give it a chance?"

Spider-man was about to dismiss the possibility out of hand again, but something inside of him coaxed him away from that course. He'd just been told that he was considered, by some people, to be one of the greatest heroes in the world, and that realization prompted him to make his next decision a lot more carefully than he'd made decisions in the past. Though still a teenager, Spider-man stopped to think about his choice, and he thought about it for several minutes before he spoke again...

* * *

Clint Barton hadn't picked up his phone at any point in the past year, regardless of whether it was ringing or not. He had no desire for anyone to get in contact with him. He was a man who was trying to put his past behind him, and that meant everyone, former friend and former foe alike. At the moment, however, he didn't have any friends or foes. All he had was money, and he planned on living in absolute boredom and safety for the rest of his life if he could. However, someone seemed to have noticed that he wasn't answering his phone calls, because he found, that very day, a letter in his mailbox, apparently deposited there manually by someone who'd been in the area, since it had no stamp on it. It also didn't have a return address, so Clint wasn't sure who could have sent it to him, but he opened it anyway, and froze as he read the words on the page.

"I know who you are. Turn around."

At once, Clint spun around, and caught the glint of red and gold metal disappearing behind a nearby building.

"No!" Clint thought silently, but furiously, "I can't face him here! Not like this! I'm not ready!"

But what else could Clint do? He couldn't defeat Iron Man in his own neighborhood, and still maintain a low profile. As hard as it might be, he had to go talk to Iron Man, and try to reason with him, or else manipulate him somehow. Clint cursed any fate that had allowed such a difficult task to fall into his lap as he crossed the street and stepped in between two buildings, out of view of everyone else in the neighborhood.

"Alright." he said, "What do you want from me?"

Soon, Iron Man had descended silently in front of him, his armor looking, if anything, more advanced than ever. The joints were smoother, the metal shinier and the motors no longer made even the slightest sound when he moved.

"Actually, I'd like to offer you a job." Iron Man said, sounding almost casual.

"I'm not interested." Clint replied quickly.

"You're kidding me. You were a heck of a mercenary a while back, if I recall correctly."

For a moment, Clint looked up at Iron Man's metal faceplate with an expression of genuine curiosity.

"You're serious, aren't you? A real job? With money?"

"Sure, if you want." Iron Man replied, "There's money if you need it, although I was hoping the marksmanship equipment I designed for you would make a decent down-payment on your services; at least for a little while, until you get used to the idea."

"You're not pressing charges?" Clint asked suspiciously, raising one eyebrow.

"I need your help, Clint." Iron Man replied, "I won't get that if I turn you in. You never committed crimes against anyone but me that I know of, and I'm willing to forgive and forget if you function as well as I've heard."

Clint was still suspicious of the whole thing, but he was willing to listen to Iron Man, for the moment.

"What can you safely tell me about the job?" Clint asked.

"Oh, just about anything you want to know. I'm forming a new Avengers, and I want you to be in my corner, in case one of the team members turns traitor."

Clint froze for a moment. He was being asked to watchdog super-powered beings? He didn't like the sound of that.

"Who are these people?" Clint asked.

"I'm afraid I don't know how many of them will decide to join," Iron Man replied, "But I know that at least two have already agreed. A woman named Jennifer Walters, and someone you've worked with before; Natalia Romanova."

Clint stopped when he heard that name. Natalia? He'd be working with Natalia again? The last time Clint had seen Natalia, she'd been convinced that Iron Man had started working as an enemy agent, which had led her to confront him in battle, and Clint to step in later when he saw Iron Man attacking the poor, defenseless woman. At that point, of course, he almost chuckled at the thought of Natalia seeming in any way defenseless. She was probably the most dangerous woman he knew. If she was going to be working with Iron Man's new group, and more importantly, if she was also backing Iron Man, he had nothing at all to worry about from the other members.

"I'm probably going to be banging my head against a wall for this later," Clint said, "but for the moment, I'm in. I want to learn a little more about these plans of yours, though, before I commit to anything long-term."

* * *

"Your majesty, the south reefs are becoming too dense. They're threatening our operations."

"Then trim the coral, and continue construction preparations."

"My lord, the fish of the upper levels are becoming less reliable every day."

"I'll find a way to deal with that personally."

"Sir, the army is requesting more ore from the mining colonies."

"Tell the army they can fend for themselves until next month, when the supplies will be due to them. Atlantis will not fall in thirty days."

Then, all those who'd brought the king news replied simultaneously.

"Hail, Namor! Imperius Rex!"

After that, they all left, and for once, Namor had a rare moment of peace. Still, every moment he spent serving his subjects was peace compared to the agony, mere months before, when he'd been unsure where they'd gone, or if they were even still alive. Compared to the stress of those days, the burdens of command over one of the largest and most powerful nations on Earth seemed like a relatively small thing.

However, Namor was still on the alert for any danger from the surface-world; the realm above the tops of the waves, where the humans dwelled. Danger was, after all, something the humans excelled in producing. Their pollutions were part of the reason the upper-level fish were having problems. To hear from a human in his throne room in Atlantis was certainly an unwelcome thing.

"King Namor! Your majesty, can you hear me?"

Namor got up and left the throne room, as if in irritation with the workload, but in truth, he simply didn't wish to appear unstable or confused in front of his guards, as he addressed the voice who'd called out to him.

"You will address me as the Submariner." Namor said, "Who is this?"

"I am Doctor Strange." came the voice, "Sorcerer Supreme of planet Earth, and although I am human by birth, I have no allegiances to any nation founded by man. On the contrary, my loyalties lie with the planet as a whole, and on behalf of the planet Earth, I humbly request your assistance."

For a few moments, the Submariner was deep in thought, but finally, he said "You request my help, but you say nothing about what this aid will entail. Tell me what you want, why you want it, and why I should want to help you. If you tell me all that, I'll make my decision."

"I'm attempting to gather Earth's greatest and best champions in order to better present a defense against injustices and dangers of all sorts, and draw the attention of all the peoples of the world to the problems they need to solve, and the unity they should be trying to establish, in order to do so."

"In other words, you're saying that this would benefit Atlantis indirectly, by encouraging people to stop polluting the oceans."

"And perhaps directly, if the entire Earth should ever be in danger. You could go into battle with the forces that threaten it alongside others, whose strengths could be relied on."

Submariner thought about it for a moment, but Strange had a feeling that he was on the verge of refusing, so he continued.

"There are risks, of course. Some of these champions may be untrustworthy, and most are of human origins, but hopefully, our team will be able to do much good for the world as a whole, and not just for one race, or a few races."

Submariner continued to debate with himself silently for several seconds before he replied to Doctor Strange.

"I've been a member of a team before, but I'll need to think about this. Tell me where you plan on meeting, and leave me be. I suspect the answer will be no, but I mustn't make rush decisions on such matters. You humans have many alliances, and that may be a source of strength to you. I won't promise to contact you again, but if I don't, it will mean that I've refused."

Then, the Submariner said no more, returning to his throne and his kingdom.

* * *

The phone rang in the apartment of Carol Danvers, and she picked it up, expecting it to be one of her friends, or a relative calling to tell her about something that had happened to them, but in that instance, she was in for a surprise.

"Carol?" came the voice over the phone, and she recognized it at once.

"Natalia?" she remarked, "Why are you calling me?"

"It couldn't be helped." Natalia replied, "There's news that you should be made aware of. I feel I owe you that."

"What kind of news?" Carol asked, trying to get past her confusion and slight worry.

"Iron Man and Doctor Strange have been organizing superhumans into a new team; perhaps even intended to replace the Avengers. I'm not sure what their aim is in doing that, but I've already agreed to join, just to keep an eye on them."

"Avengers?" Carol asked. She'd heard of the Avengers, of course. Their formation, their first few cases, and their eventual, tragic fate had been a matter of public knowledge, but Carol had never thought, after such a tragedy, that they might try to assemble a new team. In fact, she'd sort of hoped they wouldn't. Nothing had made her sadder than to hear the fate of the Wasp and the Ant-Man, and Thor, although according to Captain America, he was still alive.

"Thank you, Natalia," Carol said, "but I'm sure they'd have had this on the news eventually. Why tell me now?"

"Because of your time in the Air Force." Natalia said, "When we met, all those years ago, I had a great deal of respect for your skill, as well as your dedication to doing what was right. Deep down inside, I don't think you ever really belonged in the Air Force, except, of course that you were very good at flying. If this new team proves successful, it could be a chance for you to do what you really wanted to do all this time; pursue an ideal alongside others who feel at least a bit similarly. That is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Carol thought about that for a few moments, but a look of sadness came over her face as she did so.

"You're doing this to give me what I want?" Carol asked suspiciously.

"Not exactly." the answer, predictably came, "I'm doing this because I don't know anyone I trust more than you, and unfortunately, that isn't saying much. I'm sure that many of the new members will be untrustworthy, and I know Iron Man has realized that too. That's why he asked me to come aboard. The problem is, the two of us wouldn't be enough if someone like the Submariner or She-Hulk decided to turn and attack us in the middle of an important mission. I need you to be there, for all our sakes. Besides which, it'll be nice to have another teammate who's at least roughly human."

Carol winced at that phrasing. Natalia had never exactly been known for her pretty words, but she was right. The chance to work towards an ideal, instead of fighting for someone else's cause was always something she'd wanted, even before she'd gotten her powers; powers that Natalia didn't know about yet.

"Alright, Natalia." Carol said into the receiver, "I'll think about it. Where did you say they were meeting?"

* * *

"Logan?"

Logan didn't turn around. As silent as Iron Man thought his armor was, Logan had detected him from almost twenty yards away, with his abnormally-sharp senses of hearing and smell.

"You come here for a mission, or for trouble?" Logan asked.

"Neither, really." Iron Man replied, stepping forward out of the woods to face Logan from the front, "Your name came up a lot in some old videotapes of Captain America, and..."

"Story seeker, huh?" Logan asked, loosing a slight grin at that.

"No. Not really." Iron Man said again, "I came to ask if you'd like to join the new team of champions we're assembling. We've already gathered some fine recruits, and someone like you, who once trained with the Captain..."

"Cap and I both trained the same way." Logan said, "We trained by bein' in a war. There ain't no other kind of trainin' like that."

"Well, I guess what I'm saying, is that you clearly have some experience in organizing group dynamics, and following orders in combat situations, so it seems like you might be ideal for our team."

"Cap gonna be there?" Logan asked.

"I think so." Iron Man replied. Truthfully, he wasn't sure, but he hoped that Captain America would agree to join the new Avengers, as he had the old.

Logan seemed to be thinking about it for a moment, then said "Cap's way better with team battle strategy than me. Best team strategist I ever saw, in fact. If you got him, you can make do without me."

"Why, Logan?" Iron Man asked, point blank, "Why don't you want to join?"

Logan seemed to consider, for a moment, telling Iron Man a lie, or not telling him anything at all, but in the end, he chose to speak the truth.

"I got people what depend on me now. Kids. I'm a teacher, I guess you could say. I don't know. It don't seem like much when you say it like that, but it's a big thing to me. I can't just run away from that."

"No." Iron Man replied, "Prior commitments I understand. I won't ask any more questions about it, but just remember, the spot's open if your schedule ever frees up."

"Sure thing." Logan replied, still not moving, as Iron Man took off and vanished over the horizon.

* * *

Somewhere out in the Pacific Ocean, several miles off the American west coast, there was a secluded island, covered in small mountains, and those mountains, in turn, were covered by an all-obscuring fog, preventing the island's contents from being seen from the air, but there, in the very middle of the island, was a cave leading into the ground, and some distance down through that cave was a city unlike anything else on the surface of planet Earth. Within that city, lived people unlike any other people on Earth. Intelligent, civilized, and yet inhuman...

Each one of those inhumans was subjected in their infancy to the mutating Terragen Mists, found deep beneath the Earth's surface, which tamper with the evolutionary process of any living thing they touch, transforming the young babies into inhumans, each of whom has strange, and different traits and abilities.

Among the strongest abilities found in the inhumans were those of the royal family; a group of five inhumans, which had once contained two more, but one of them had gone mad, and had to be imprisoned, and the other... The other had abandoned their city, and their way of life forever.

The city of the inhumans was called Attilan, and to the eyes of mere humans, anything going on in that city would be considered odd, but only one truly uncommon thing would happen to the inhumans on that day.

"I, Doctor Strange call out to the greatest of the great. I call the king of the inhumans." a voice from seemingly nowhere said, causing the inhuman king Black Bolt, and his wife Medusa to raise their heads. Black Bolt had heard the voice quite clearly, and Medusa, who shared thoughts with Black Bolt when they were close, had heard it as well, through him.

"Black Bolt cannot speak to you!" Medusa snapped, but the voice had a ready reply.

"Black Bolt's voice destroys everything within its range. I already know this, so you don't have explain it to me. He doesn't need to speak aloud, however. Like you, I will hear his thoughts."

"For what purpose do you contact me?" Black Bolt asked silently with his mind.

"Many of the greatest champions of Earth are gathering under one roof to form both a protective front against injustice and evil, and to spread a message of harmony to all the races of the Earth. Although your people have been at odds with ours in the past, I reach my hand out to you in friendship, and offer you an alliance. Please, send one of the inhumans to act as an emissary in this new team of champions."

Black Bolt considered that for a moment, but finally, he sent back his answer to Strange, and it wasn't encouraging.

"In our society, we're cast into roles in life from the moment the nature of our abilities is discovered. Only a few inhumans have been cast into a role that can translate, even loosely, into that of emissary, and all of them are members of my family. Having lost my sister-in-law to your world already, how can I risk another loss of that type?"

"There are risks." Strange admitted, "But there are also benefits. Think of the attention it will bring to the dilemmas of your people. Remember the efforts you've made towards trying to convince our people that your kingship, and your society are not evil in nature. What if you'd called out to them through one of our champions? What if you'd had the support of Captain America, for instance? You have the chance to make a champion for the whole world out of one member of your family."

"Karnak..." Black Bolt thought silently, "Medusa... Gorgon... Triton... I love them all... How can I place them at such risk?"

"The inhumans have never had such direct contact with the human world!" Medusa exclaimed, "It would tear our people apart, as it's done to my sister!"

"Without your help, the humans, or others like them may even destroy this entire planet." Strange replied.

"They may do so, even with my help." Black Bolt responded.

"But you'd at least know that you'd done all you could to prevent it." Strange explained, trying his best to convince the inhuman king.

"No." Black Bolt replied, "To send any member of my family would not bring me that knowledge. The only way I could know that I had done my utmost... would be if I were to go as emissary."

Strange's heart leapt in his chest. Medusa was still trying to talk him out of it. After all, Black Bolt had been cast, among other things, into the role of king, and that was his duty, but Strange had spoken only one night before with another person, who also had obligations of his own, and yet, was willing to try to find some time for the team during emergencies. He was confident that the worst of their little debate was over...

* * *

Iron Man had to do his best not to shiver as he passed through one cavern after another, on his way to the bottom of the maze of tunnels he was exploring. He knew that he was walking into a figurative lion's den, where at any moment, he could be overwhelmed and torn to shreds, even with his armor, but it was, he'd decided, worth the risk, so long as he didn't try to fight with the person he was about to meet.

As the tunnel Iron Man had passed through opened up into a cavern, where many tunnels converged, he saw the very man he'd been looking for, sitting casually on a throne, made from the surrounding bedrock.

"Of course, it made no sense that you would come willingly to my domain." The Mole Man said, "But naturally, I made preparations anyway. I recommend against attempting to get any closer to me. If you do, my pets will start closing off the exits to this room, and that would be most unpleasant for you, I suspect."

"That's alright." Iron Man replied, trying to keep the fear out of his voice as he stopped short, to hover in mid-air, "I didn't come here to fight you."

"Oh?" The Mole Man asked, "Then why did you come here?"

"I came to ask you for help." Iron Man replied, "The planet Earth isn't really such a big place. I'm sure you know that better than anyone. I've been attempting to assemble a team of the most powerful beings on Earth to defend it, if and when a threat to its safety should arise, and... Well, your name was on the short list."

"How honest." The Mole Man noted rather arrogantly.

"Also, as we protect the Earth, we'll also be trying to support liberty and justice for everyone." Iron Man explained.

"Why should I want to help you with that?" The Mole Man asked, "I've forsaken the surface world, just as..."

The Mole Man stopped talking before finishing that sentence, but it was clear what he'd been about to say, and when Iron Man realized that, he knew he'd been right about the man.

"I don't think you're evil." Iron Man explained, "You're just bitter because you were mistreated by people when you lived on the surface. To someone like you, I'd think justice would be very important. Isn't justice what you've really wanted all this time?"

The Mole Man's brow furrowed, and his enormous, hooked nose wrinkled as he tightened his grip on the long, metal staff he kept in one hand at all times. For a few seconds, it looked like he might attack; but finally, he spoke instead, still looking very tense.

"I've always wanted justice against those who mistreated me only because of my deformed appearance. I've made no secret of that. So, I suppose you think I'll join your group to search for justice for myself, and those like me, eh?"

"No." Iron Man replied, "It's a nice mission to have, of course, but if you join our team, I suspect it'll be for the chance to work alongside others as a peer, without being mistreated. In my team, I could promise you respect almost to the point of reverence. Your teammates would recognize that you're a king in this place, and would respect that. They'd address you by whatever title you most prefer, and be polite and courteous to you at all times, and I suspect your nation of Subterra would earn a great deal more recognition, even among the authorities of the upper world. Of course, that would mean that any further attacks on the surface world would have to come to an end, but I think you'll find the advantages of pleasant camaraderie to be numerous."

The Mole Man remained silent, showing no further visible signs of emotion for several seconds. At last, however, he did reply to Iron Man's proposal, and his words were as cryptic as his expression.

"This is how I will respond to your offer. You will tell me the precise location of this place, where your champions are gathering, and then you will leave. If, in twelve hours, you haven't heard from me, it will mean that I have no intention of joining, and am still seeking a different method of getting what I truly deserve. You may find that idealism and high morals fill you with hope, but I do not, and I am not such an optimist, that I expect your people to accept me at once, if not just because of my appearance, than because of my past."

"I understand." Iron Man replied, "Very well. I'll respect your wishes."

* * *

Iron Man and Captain America had been friends for over a year. They even knew each other's secret identities, which marked a bond of unwavering trust between superheroes. Iron Man knew, in fact, a great deal about Captain America, such as the fact that he woke up at 5:30 every morning to begin his training regimen, and went to bed at 9:30 every night, except when he had a lot of extra work to do, or was needed elsewhere. So at 5:30, when Cap began his training, Iron Man was there, standing in the doorway of his room.

"Iron Man." Cap said as he stood on his hands, pushing up and down off his fingertips, the heavy shield on his back making it even more of a test of his strength and balance, "Something wrong?"

"You're needed, Captain." Iron Man said, "In an hour and a half, you'll be expected at the Whitestone Manor, near New York's south borders."

"Whitestone?" Cap asked, "Why? Who's expecting me."

Iron Man smiled, although Cap couldn't see it under the helmet he wore, as he said, "The Avengers."

* * *

At last, Iron Man and Captain America reached the Whitestone Manor; an old, but well-maintained building from the Victorian era, which had over twenty guest rooms, bathrooms, and ten rooms for other functions; kitchens, dining rooms, dens, and a main and secondary hall. The main hall, of course, was kept bare at Iron Man's request, but the secondary hall had a long, thin table with about twenty chairs around it. Painted on the table, then covered in a strong, lustrous, varnish was the letter "A" in white, with a large circle behind it, which was like a pinwheel of several different colors; among them green, red, blue and orange.

Captain America had brought a large box with him, but he very nearly dropped it upon seeing the seven figures gathered there.

Steven Strange was seated near the table's head, his blue and gold uniform, and long, red and gold cape done up with a magic amulet were evidence, even from a distance, of who he was.

Next to him, seated at the table, was a woman dressed in black and gold. She wore a black mask over her eyes, that obscured her eye color, and the design of gold through the black of her costume resembled a thunderbolt. Her arms and legs were mostly bare at the top, but she wore long, black boots and gloves that reached up past her knees and elbows. Captain America didn't recognize her, but would later learn that she called herself Miss Marvel.

Though there were plenty of chairs, one figure seemed to have decided not to take a seat, and was instead crouching on the wall behind Marvel, adhering to it, as if he was glued there. That figure was the amazing Spider-man, and his red and blue costume was recognizable instantly.

Two figures sat next to one another on the side of the table across from Strange and Marvel, and Captain America did recognize them. One wore a dark violet outfit, and had metal, ring-like devices on his wrists, and a bow and a quiver of long, metal rods with different-colored stripes along them slung across his back. He was known, in some circles, as Hawkeye; the world's greatest marksman. The other figure next to him was dressed all in black, with dark-painted machines of some sort attached to her wrists. She was known as the Black Widow, and unlike Hawkeye; she wore no mask, but had short, red hair, that hung only as far as her ears. Efficiency was practically all one could see to look at her expression, though it seemed she'd chosen the seat next to Hawkeye for a reason.

Next to them was the tallest of all the people in that room; Jennifer Walters, also known as the She-Hulk. Like the Fantastic Four, her identity was publicly-known. She was almost six foot seven, though it seemed like a little less when seated, and her skin and hair were green. Jennifer had powers which were generally considered to be equal to those of her close cousin Bruce Banner, also known as the Hulk, and which had been acquired through a blood transfusion with him, when she was shot by the agents of a local crime lord, while her cousin had been in town. At the time, Bruce had tried to warn the doctors that his blood was unsafe, but it didn't really matter. He'd been the only one who could have saved her life, and the result was her uncommon physique and skin color, as well as her abnormal strength. Of course, there were other differences between herself and Bruce as well. Jennifer didn't have the ability to turn back into her former five-ten, brown-haired self. She remained in, as she liked to call it "green mode" all the time, even while she slept. However, Bruce Banner always suffered a change in personality, and a drop in intelligence (at least textbook intelligence) when he transformed, and those things hadn't, thus far, happened to Jennifer, for which both she and Bruce were quite thankful.

The real surprise, however, was seated next to Miss Marvel. It was a man, in perfect physical condition, dressed all in black, with blue lightning bolts running from his shoulders, down to the tips of the feet on his costume. He also had small, mounted glider wings folded up under his arms, and what looked like a metal tuning fork embedded in his forehead. Cap recognized him at once from the files he'd seen on recorded superhumans. The man was the normally-reclusive king of the inhumans; Black Bolt.

The spectacle of all those powerful people gathered in that place was stunning and a little intimidating, and Captain America knew he'd have to turn them all away.

"Hello." Cap said as he deposited a cardboard box on the table, and began removing things from it, one at a time. First, a small television, then a video tape and extension cord. He plugged the setup into a nearby outlet, and popped the tape into the VCR attached to the television, then turned it on.

"I won't take up any more of your time than I need to." Captain America said, "You all need to see this."

The image that appeared on the screen seconds later was of two people; one a woman with blond hair, the other a slim figure dressed entirely in a skintight, black outfit, with a mask and gloves of the same color. They were leaving a vault by it's large, metal door, glancing around as if worried that someone was about to interrupt them. The woman held a small bag in one hand; the same kind of brown, paper bag that one often sees used to carry a lunch, and the man dressed in the black seemed to be functioning in a lookout capacity, proceeding carefully in front of the woman. It was obvious that they'd just robbed the vault of some item, and were carrying it out, when Captain America appeared at the doorway to the bank, his shield over one arm, and rushed forward, towards the man dressed in the black, knocking him over with a blow from his shield. However, the darkly-dressed man was back up again in only a moment, and charged back at Cap, who tried to deliver a slicing blow with his shield, but the figure ducked under it, and delivered what looked like a judo chop to Captain America's arm from underneath. Though it was plain that he was hurting from the blow, Cap didn't even flinch. Instead, he swung around, and kicked out with one leg, but the figure responded by grabbing his leg in mid-kick, and leaping forward and over it, then grabbing Cap by the front of his costume, and rolling over on the floor, throwing him backwards into the vault. Soon, the darkly-dressed figure had slammed the door shut again, before Cap could get back out, and locked it with a few button-presses to a set of number keys, inlaid into the doorway.

"That won't hold him forever." the dark figure said, "He'll have summoned them by now. I'd call her in."

"Right." The woman replied, pressing a button on a small, circular device that hung at her wrist, and just as the two reached the doorway out, and stepped into the street, they were met by four figures that they recognized all too well; the Avengers. They were Thor, Iron Man, Ant Man and the Wasp.

From that point, the blond woman seemed to smile, though no one was sure why, and in moments, a seeming passerby, who looked like a teenage girl, had grabbed Thor from behind by the ears. No one could see her face, because she was still behind Thor, but Thor seemed to be convulsing in pain, and Iron Man tried to use his repulsors on her, only to find that they were absolutely useless.

"Knock it off, sugah!" came a shout, "Ahm kinda busy eating heah!"

At last, Thor fell to the ground unconscious, and the girl was gone from the view of the cameras in the building, but the Avengers clearly saw her, as they also left the camera's view in pursuit. A bright, shining light seemed to emanate from Thor at that point, as he lay on the ground, but the camera couldn't really see him, because only a moment later, a chunk of rubble fell to the ground just behind the two apparent robbers, obscuring the camera's view of the first two or so feet of the road outside, and its unconscious occupant. However, moments later, noises were heard from somewhere outside the camera's view; noises of powerful hurricane winds and supersonic air speed being reached by at least two people were picked up by the camera, then the sound of metal being bent and twisted, then finally ripped apart, and an explosion as a man screamed. Moments later, there was another scream; the scream of a woman, and that one was much more heart-wrenching, because everyone in that room knew that it was the scream of someone who was about to die. She was helpless, terrified, and in horrible pain. Janet Van Dyne had never had a prayer.

There were no more audible sounds after that, aside from a few gasps, and some gagging noises, as of someone being choked, and finally, the vault door swung open, several wires having been exposed and reconnected in different combinations from the inside, with deep gashes in the metal of the vault door, but as Captain America stepped forth from that enormous vault, then rushed outside, the camera stopped, showing no more.

"The rest you know." Captain America said, turning off the television with a somber look in his eyes, although some of those present later recalled having seen at least one fresh tear there as well, "The Avengers died that day. We were beaten; beaten completely. Thor lost his powers, Iron Man's armor was torn to shreds, Wasp and Ant Man were dead… and me... I was helpless. Believe me, that's not the kind of world you want to wander into. I'm sorry we've wasted your time."

For several moments, no one said anything, as Cap ejected the tape and began packing away his things in the box again, but it was Spider-man who eventually spoke first.

"Welp, I'm convinced."

Cap had mixed feelings upon hearing that remark, until Spider-man spoke again.

"Cap won't be joining us after all."

"Weren't you watching?" Cap asked, frustrated, "Didn't you see the..."

"Yeah, yeah." Spider-man replied, sounding a little more casual than he'd, perhaps, intended, "Look, big guy. There's risks. We all knew that when we got into this business. You aught to know it better than anybody. I mean, you were in a war, for Pete's sake; a big one. You know all about risk, right?"

Captain America was silent when Spider-man asked him that, however.

"You know, someone I cared about once told me something that changed my life forever." Spider-man said, "He said that when you have great power, you have an obligation to use it for everyone's good, and to use it responsibly. I have a lot of respect for you, Cap, but... Well, it doesn't matter what you say. I'm gonna be an Avenger, even if I'm the only one."

"Me too." Iron Man said from next to Cap, "I can't do it anymore, Captain. I can't pretend to be satisfied with not being part of a team."

"I know all about risk." The black widow said, "Hawkeye here used to be a mercenary, and I've been something of a... crusader for years. If the new Avengers manage to scare up a few really nasty enemies, then so be it. We'll know we did our best."

"Yeah." Miss Marvel added, "I'm in."

"Me too." Jennifer said, leaning carefully across the table.

Black Bolt simply nodded.

"I hadn't originally intended on joining." Strange said, which some of the others found a little startling, "But Black Bolt is among the mightiest kings on planet Earth, and if he thinks membership in the Avengers is worth the risk, then so do I."

"Oh!" Spider-man exclaimed, realizing only then who Black Bolt was, "We've got a king here. I'm sorry. I shoulda been more courteous."

Black Bolt merely grinned slightly at that remark.

"You will have two kings in your midst." came another voice from one of the doors leading into the secondary hall, and everyone there turned to look, and saw the Submariner standing there, dressed in his legendary green shorts, that looked suspiciously like green-scaled underwear to Spidey, though he dared not make such a remark.

"Namor." Cap muttered as the Submariner stepped forth and took a seat.

"Three kings." came another voice, from closer to the ground, and they all looked to the doorway, at the other side of the room, and saw the Mole Man stepping forth, his long, metal staff still in one hand, "I have a stake in all of this as well. The entire inside of planet Earth is mine. Its fate has much bearing upon me."

"So what now, Cap?" Iron Man asked, taking a seat himself in a metal chair near the table's far end, "Do you still want to hold out? Are you still so bitter about what happened?"

For a moment more, Captain America said nothing. Then he looked at those gathered there, and said, "I am bitter, but... But bitterness... I don't really know..."

"Then take my word for it." The Mole Man interrupted. "I am an authority on bitterness, and even a bitter man has things he wants to accomplish. Now, whether you do or don't, I don't care, but if you don't, I expect to never see you fighting evil on television again. You can be a coward; just don't be a hypocrite."

"Captain America is no coward, Mole Man." Namor replied, sternly, but not angrily, then turning to face Cap, said, "Prove him wrong, Captain. Rise to the challenge again."

Mole Man seemed not to take offense. In fact, he seemed to like the fact that Submariner had remembered to use his formal title, instead of trying to call him by a human name.

Captain America, however, was still deep in thought, and turned to look at Namor in disbelief. Considering all he'd heard about his former comrade in recent years, he'd never expected Namor to be among those who chose to join.

"Namor." Cap said, sitting down at the table close to him, "Why?"

"This team, I've been told, will have the chance to change our world." Namor said, and then remarked with a smirk, "You and I can both agree that it desperately needs changing."

Then, however, Namor frowned again, and his eyes darkened, "I am a warrior born, and I think you are too, Captain. You've never been one to shrink away from an opponent, just because you had reason to fear them, and this certainly isn't the first time men have died under your watch. You have no reason for refusing to join us."

For a moment, Captain America looked sad again, but when he finally spoke, some part of his old dedication had returned into his eyes for the first time in over a year.

"Alright." Captain America said to those gathered. "I'm in."

The reaction to hearing that news was quite positive. Many of those gathered smiled, and Hawkeye in particular tried to shake Cap's hand, but Captain America wasn't yet feeling quite that sure of himself, and seemed to shrug the attempt off.

"Is that everyone who's planning on joining?" he asked.

"I think so." Doctor Strange replied, "Spider-man said he had someone else in mind, but I haven't heard any more about it."

"Yeah..." Spider-man said, still feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, "I did kind of have one guy I talked to about this, but he turned me down. See, he's kind of... Well, he's a pretty humble guy. I guess all this big stuff probably scared him off."

"I might decide to tag along, though." Came a voice from the direction of the main hall, and when everyone turned to look, there was Johnny Storm; the new Human Torch. Behind him was a beautiful, red-haired girl in a gold and black costume, who Black Bolt instantly recognized.

"Johnny?" Iron Man asked.

"I know I didn't technically get invited to this little party," Johnny said, "but I'll try not to get in... um... your way."

Johnny had hesitated for a moment because the two figures closest to him were Namor and the Mole Man, each of whom he knew best for their attempts to destroy the Fantastic Four in the past.

"Well, you're welcome here," Strange said, "provided you can agree to work alongside the present company without prejudice."

"Indeed." Mole Man was heard to remark under his breath as Johnny said, "Yeah. Yeah, I'll try."

"I'm coming too." The woman behind Johnny said, stepping forward.

"Who...?" Spider-man asked, curiously.

"Her name is Crystal." Strange remarked, "Black Bolt says that she is his sister-in-law."

"Black Bolt says?" Spidey asked, not wishing to offend, but quite confused on that point. Fortunately, Strange replied quickly.

"Black Bolt's voice is destructive. He doesn't dare to speak. I'm in telepathic communication with him. If he wants, I can make anyone here aware of his thoughts."

Black Bolt clearly understood what was said, but didn't even give so much as a nod of his head. He'd gotten to his feet, to approach Crystal, and sent a stray thought in Strange's direction.

"It's been too long since we could speak in this manner." Crystal heard Black Bolt's thoughts in her mind. As she'd long suspected, his voice was calm, deep and pure. His heart desired nothing but peace, but his will was strong enough to tolerate combat.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad we were able to meet again." Crystal thought back to him, looking him in the eyes. There was disappointment in those eyes, but gladness as well, "I hope you haven't come to scold me further for abandoning my role in your well-designed society."

"I'm here as well, and I haven't abandoned my role." Black Bolt replied, "Still, it would be inappropriate. But know that although you've forsaken the society of the inhumans, always remember that you're still family to me, and I still care for you."

"I know." Crystal said aloud as Black Bolt returned to his seat.

"Now, before any real emergencies come up," Captain America said, "I think we ought to decide on a leader."

"I thought we were all going to be treated as peers." The Mole Man remarked testily.

"Not like an employer." Cap replied, "Just a field commander, who can be counted on to organize the team in military combat situations. Is that acceptable?"

The Mole Man hesitated for a moment, but at last, said, "Yes. I'll accept that. But this person must have proven their ability to evaluate individual strengths, as well as having true brilliance in tactical situations of every sort."

"I think Captain America is a good choice." Iron Man replied, "He's very good with tactical command."

"Yes. I concur." Namor replied, "In fact, I'd say that last year..."

Namor stopped awkwardly in mid-sentence at that point, and fell silent, probably because he thought that it might be disrespectful to continue, but most of those gathered knew what he'd been about to say. Namor thought that Cap's absence from the actual fight had been mostly responsible for the fall of the Avengers.

Captain America showed no enthusiasm over being almost unanimously appointed to the position of field commander, but that was hardly surprising.

"Of course, it might come across as arrogant to mention any of this to the press before we've faced any real threats." Captain America said, "But when that time comes, I'll want to know what our collective views are, so I can answer any questions abou..."

"Under no circumstances!" the Mole Man exclaimed, suddenly almost furious as he placed one hand on the table.

"What's wrong?" Captain America asked, surprised, but not upset.

"If you become spokesperson for the new Avengers," the Mole Man insisted, "I leave this group today. Your ties to America are much too strong. Half of the people here hail from places other than America, and this group's neutrality to pre-existing countries and organizations was most of the reason I even agreed to join."

"That's true." Namor admitted, "I myself joined largely because I was told our group would be neutral to any specific country."

Captain America seemed just a little disappointed; the first real emotion he'd shown since stopping his video.

"Alright." Cap said, "If we need a different spokesperson, I suppose we can find one, but I'm afraid it can't be you, Mole Man. You're even more attached to your country than I am to mine."

"True." Mole Man replied, starting to calm down and speak sensibly again, "Namor and Crystal are impossible choices as well, for the same reason."

All three seemed to understand his point, nodding slightly.

"In fact," the Mole Man said, "There's only one person here, aside from myself, who I'd trust to speak on my behalf, and on behalf of the Avengers, with strength of will, dignity, and neutrality."

Then, the Mole Man pointed across the table with his left forefinger, and everyone was a little surprised at the person he'd chosen.

"You." the Mole Man said, "Doctor Strange."

"What?" Strange asked, genuinely flabbergasted, "Me? But I... I... I mean, I thought maybe Iron Man..."

"Iron Man is under the employ of Tony Stark; a corporate giant in America." the Mole Man said, "He cannot be completely trusted to be neutral. You, however, can be. You are a citizen of the universe, and it is the universe as a whole that you protect, and have always protected, even before this group was founded."

"Well, I... I'm not comfortable with... I mean..." Strange was fumbling for an excuse. When he'd agreed to help Tony found a new incarnation of the Avengers, he'd always sort of thought of himself as just helping out, not as an actual member, and certainly not as the public face of the new Avengers, but... Well, seeing all those champions gathered together in one place... Strange had to do everything he could to make sure it worked.

"I'm afraid I'm not a very good public speaker," Strange said, "but... Is that what everyone wants?"

"Sure." Spider-man said, "I mean, you're not just neutral, you can also hear thoughts we aim in your direction, which means you really can speak like all of us combined. I think you're a perfect choice."

Everyone else seemed to agree, though many did so only with a pleasant smile in Strange's direction. It seemed that the only ones who didn't really smile were Namor and the Mole Man, who hardly ever did, and of course, Captain America.

The meeting was adjourned in only minutes, and the thirteen founding Avengers left that meeting with only a few more things to take care of.

* * *

"So you've lived underground for years?" Jennifer asked, fascinated as the Mole Man stood up, though it seemed to make him no taller, "Fascinating! Tell me what that's like..."

For a moment, the Mole Man turned to look at her, though by that point, she was standing up too, and he had to bend his neck all the way back to look into her eyes as he said, "With all due respect, Miss Walters, I came here because I have causes that I wish to support; not to meet beautiful women."

Jennifer seemed a little taken aback by that, and asked, "You really think I'm beautiful?" in almost a timid-sounding voice, but by that point, the Mole Man had turned away from her, and back towards Iron Man.

"What a shy guy." Jennifer muttered, more to herself than to anyone else there, "I hope he gets used to all this."

"I'm not worried about him." Miss Marvel replied as she stood up to stand next to Jennifer, "The man's obviously got a lot of problems he needs to sort out on his own. Let's just ignore him for now."

"If you don't mind," the Mole Man said, approaching Iron Man, "I'd like to see the quarters I'm being offered in this place."

"Alright." Iron Man said, "Follow me."

However, the Mole Man was only following Iron Man for a few feet into one of the adjoining hallways, before he was introduced to yet another person, that one an older man in a suit, who had some dark hair on his head, but was balding on top.

"This is Edwin Jarvis." Iron Man said, "He's the butler who's been hired to manage this building, which we're dubbing Avengers Manor for the time being. He'll show you to your guest room, though if you wish to return to your own dwelling place, that is, of course, up to you. A pager will be left in your room that only responds to other Avengers pages, to contact you when we need your help."

Iron Man had chosen those words carefully, so as not to seem as if he was suggesting that they didn't need the Mole Man, and at the same time, to also not seem as if they were ordering him around like a lackey. The Mole Man may have recognized, on some level, the great care that Iron Man was taking around him, but he kept that recognition out of his facial expression, as Jarvis led him down the hall.

What the Mole Man was really surprised by, as Jarvis opened a door with his formal title carved into it, was that the entire room was pitch black inside.

"I don't believe it!" The Mole Man exclaimed, surprised, but not angry, "Look at this! There's no light!"

"Yes." Jarvis replied, starting to explain the situation slowly, "Iron Man had all the electric lights and windows removed from this room. He thought you might prefer it this way."

"I do." the Mole Man replied, showing no real emotion, "Still, for him to anticipate me in this manner... I find that interesting. That is all I will require, however. You may go."

"Very well, sir." Jarvis said, closing the door behind the Mole Man, who waited until Jarvis' footsteps receded into the distance, then spoke again.

"You may as well stop trying to hide from me. I don't need to see you, to know you're there."

"Yes. I suspected that might be true." came the voice of Natalia Romanova, "But I wanted to speak to you in private for a moment."

"Well?" the Mole Man said impatiently, "It seems you have my attention."

"Not many people would be able to talk to Captain America in the way that you just did;" Natalia said, "half-accusing him like that."

"If you're fishing for an apology, look elsewhere." the Mole Man remarked snidely.

"On the contrary, I thought it was brilliant." Natalia said, "The subtlety, and yet the force with which you encouraged him to join makes me realize that your command over underground creatures is not, in fact, your greatest strength."

"So why didn't you do it?" the Mole Man asked, still suspicious of the Black Widow, "You're a person of great intelligence, the same as myself. Not textbook intelligence, like that Iron Man person; I mean real cunning. I know the same idea occurred to you, yet you stayed your hand."

Natalia sighed in frustration, frowning deeply when she heard that, but replied slowly.

"At present, my position in the Avengers is tentative. I'm here because I was recommended by Tony Stark for my skills in stealth and intelligence gathering, but if I ever talked that way to the great and mighty Captain America, Stark would drop me like a hot potato, and take away my pager."

"Then it seems that my unquestioned power has benefits." Mole Man replied.

"Yes. It does." Black Widow agreed, "Of course, not everyone will trust you at first. You must be aware of that. Still, I recognize that you have the cunning of a master spy. After a mission or two, I may come to rely on your skill in observation and analysis to back up my own, but I wanted to let you know that for the moment, it's your history as a so-called 'supervillain' alone that prevents me from doing that now."

"I understand." Mole Man replied, "Truthfully, I'm... pleased that you came to me. Your observation skills really are impressive. I could have left this group already, if you hadn't given me this reassurance. Plus, this... Walters person..."

"I see." Widow said, "It would be too forward to ask you to delve into this subject further, but if you do decide to, I'll be ready to listen."

The Mole Man nodded, and Widow left the room, closing the door behind her, and giving him back his privacy. As she walked down the hall to her own room, however, she stopped short, without turning around or looking in either direction, and said aloud "I thought you refused Spider-man's offer."

"Spider-man is a very powerful person," came a voice from the shadows of the hallway, "but he's still a kid. He doesn't understand how complex teams and alliances are. I can't join you, of course. I couldn't take any mission that would take me away from New York. It's my city. It's where I'm needed. Still, I trust most of these people you've assembled. If you're ever in New York, and you need my help, you know where to reach me."

Then, Widow could sense him slinking away through the shadows, and frowned as she headed further down the corridor, and opened the door to her own room. She closed it again behind her as she moved to her computer terminal, and opened the hidden files that she'd been using. They were linked into a secret section of the Avengers main computer, that only she knew about.

"Widow beta epsilon one five five nine alpha." she said into her computer's microphone, "Modify last entry. Daredevil is definitely taking part in this game."

* * *

"So, where did all this stuff come from, anyway?" Spider-man asked as he used his unnatural adhesive touch, and impressive strength and sense of balance to remove several items from boxes in what was being called the 'tech storage room.'

"Iron man says it was all in the old Avengers Mansion." Crystal replied, removing a few small devices about the size of footballs from the box she was working with, "Some of this is probably his stuff. Some of these other machines were probably made by Wasp or Ant Man, but they decided that they belonged to the team."

"I used to think I was pretty good in science class." Spidey remarked, "But half of this stuff is Greek to me."

"That's still pretty impressive." Crystal replied as she watched Spider-man finish setting up a large machine that looked something like a metal pretzel held up on rods, "I'm not sure what any of it does."

"Well, I'm pretty much done here. I'm sure I can wriggle some cash out of Stark for all this, considering I won't have much time to... do anything else for money." Spider-man said, carefully avoiding giving away anything about who he was, or what he did, other than the fact that he wasn't rich, "I'd still better get going, though. If I'm out too late, my... relatives start getting a little worried."

"I think everyone's parents worry about them when they're gone." Crystal admitted with a sympathetic look on her face.

"Yeah. Yeah, parents..." Spider-man muttered, fumbling with the words, "Well, I'll see you around."

Then, he was off at a very rapid sprint down the nearest hallway, leaving Crystal with the work she still had to do.

One by one, Crystal removed the small, football-sized machines from the box in front of her, and placed them side-by-side on a shelf nearby, but as she pulled out one of the three machines still left in the box, something happened. One part seemed to fall off the machine; a cap of some kind, and out from the machine streamed a beacon of light that struck Crystal right in the chest. Instantly, she dropped the machine, and it clattered to the floor, seeming to break, since the light went off, after bathing her whole body from the chest down, but the damage had been done. Crystal could feel her insides tightening up, and her muscles buckling under her, as her whole nervous system seemed to start radiating intense pain.

"Help..." she muttered, though her lungs seemed not to be working right by that point, "...someb...body HELP!"

* * *

Every night for a whole year, before going to bed, Donald Blake had recited the old Norse poem, and struck the ancient hammer against the ground outside his house. In the old days, he'd had such a rapport with the hammer, that he hadn't needed to use the poem to draw out its power, but ever since the battle that had put an end to the Avengers, the power of Thor seemed to have just... vanished.

However, something else had vanished too, and that was Don's chance at a social life. Since losing the chance to be a part of such a fantastic and supernatural way of life, he'd fallen into despair, and given up on pretty much everything in his life. His medical work was still doing well, but that was different. Duty was different from pleasure. Blake had realized that, after only the first three months of trying. His continual hoping, and being disappointed was destroying him inside.

"No more." he decided as he walked out into the yard, "This is the last time. If there's still no reaction tonight, I'm selling the hammer, and getting on with my life. I can't keep living with this hanging over me."

Blake didn't need to read the words inscribed on the hammer. He'd memorized them long ago.

"To the one who knows courage, to the one who knows battle, to the one who knows might." he said aloud, "Ye who strike this hammer upon the ground, if ye be worthy... cross the boundaries of mortal flesh and receive the power of the god of thunder!"

Then, Blake struck the hammer upon the ground, and watched carefully, waiting for any sign.

Ten minutes later, he was still there, still with the hammer in his hand. He hadn't transformed into the thunder god, but he knew he couldn't sell the hammer, as he'd promised to. He knew it because, at the moment the hammer had struck the ground, he'd seen a single, blue spark fly from its handle...

* * *

End


	14. Issue 14: What Doesn't Kill You Part 2

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 14

"What Doesn't Kill You"

Part 2 of 2

* * *

The moment that Crystal fell to the ground, several people all across the new Avengers Mansion noticed. Black Bolt's tuning fork picked up the vibrations of her gasping words, and the Mole Man's sharp ears detected what had happened, as if he'd been in the same room with her, but the one who arrived on the scene first was Doctor Strange, having detected the danger in Crystal's own thoughts.

As Strange appeared on the scene in a flash of light, he saw the open device laying to one side on the floor right next to Crystal, and realized at once what had happened.

"Avengers!" Strange exclaimed in his telepathic voice, "Something has happened to Crystal! Iron man! You're needed here!"

Soon, Iron Man came barreling down the hallway towards the room where Crystal had been unpacking the machines, and Black Bolt followed him close behind, worry growing in his expression.

When the two arrived at Crystal's location, rapid conversations were shared between the three of them through Strange's telepathy. After debating it for less than a second, it was agreed that Black Bolt would take Crystal to Iron Man's lab, further into the mansion, where they would have an easier time examining her.

Before five minutes were up, Strange had guided Black Bolt to Iron Man's lab, which also contained a great deal of medical equipment. No expense had been spared in preparing that place to deal with the injured. A series of long, padded platforms lined one whole side of the room, and large, complex machines could be maneuvered over those beds at any moment. Mostly, they were machines that even Black Bolt hadn't quite seen the like of before.

"Put her on the bed furthest to the left." Iron Man said as he unhooked one of the smaller machines from its place on the wall, and brought it over to where the inhuman girl lay, passing it over her a few times, as she twitched uncontrollably from the continual pain.

"I don't get it." Iron Man said after a few moments, "Every time I scan her, I get a different reading. It's like her bones and organs are changing as we're standing here."

"There's one way to know for certain what the nature of this problem is." Strange replied quickly, and in a moment, the eye-shaped pendant that pinned his cloak to his back snapped open, and a bright light covered Crystal's body.

"What are you doing to her?" Black Bolt demanded silently.

"This won't hurt Crystal." Strange replied, "The Eye of Agamotto reveals the truth behind any problem it can see. I've never used it on an injured person before, but if it works, we'll soon know what's wrong with her."

Black Bolt nodded after a moment, deciding to trust Strange for the time being, but he'd also made another grave choice. If the Avengers failed to save the life of his sister in law, he decided, then he was leaving for Attilan again.

In a moment, however, the lights around Crystal began to dim, and a new image appeared above her, showing her skeleton and organs, seeming to move on their own. Whole sections of her body stretched inward, then expanded outward again, and Iron Man recognized, with dread, what was happening.

"Crystal's body seems to be gaining and losing mass randomly at various points." Strange explained as the three watched the images, "What could cause something like this?"

"Pym Particles could." Iron Man replied, "In fact, they're the only substance in the universe, as far as I can tell, that can break the laws of matter conservation."

"I thought that Henry Pym was dead." Black Bolt said in his thoughts, to which Iron Man replied aloud, after Strange relayed the message to him.

"Doctor Pym did die," Iron Man said, "but before he did, he gathered up several samples of Pym Particles, and put them in cannisters with the intention of determining their true nature some day, and finding some way to create more. A few samples of Pym Particles survived, and so did most of Henry's work, except the prototype device that he originally used to turn himself into Giant Man. If he were alive, he'd know just what to do. Frankly, I'm lost."

"Well, he's not alive." Strange said, echoing Black Bolt's thoughts in his direction, "Isn't there anyone else who might be able to repair the damage?"

"See, that's the thing..." Iron Man replied, looking over the image that Strange's artifact was still projecting, "I don't see any permanent damage at all. I'll bet if these changes were to stop, she'd be just fine, but without some means of stopping the movements of her body parts when they gain and lose mass, she'll be dead inside of fifteen minutes."

"I can do it." Strange heard Black Bolt say into his thoughts, "I can stop the unnatural vibrations in her body."

"Black Bolt says that he can do that." Strange said, just as the tuning fork on Black Bolt's head began to vibrate much more rapidly.

"The task" Black Bolt said, through Strange, "is to create counter-vibrations inside of her, that work against the ones the Pym particles are creating. I've used this technique to blunt sharp impacts to the bodies of my friends in the past. However, this will only work as long as I maintain perfect concentration, which means that if I start to tire, she will die. We need a more permanent solution."

Then, Strange spoke in his own words again, saying nervously "You said that you were lost. Is there someone else, who might understand what's happening to her?"

"I... I don't think so." Iron Man replied, "Although there are others who've studied the same alien technology that created the Pym particles. I think the best move would be to call Reed Richards."

Strange just nodded as Tony activated the mobile phone line in his armor, trying to get through to the top floors of the Baxter Building. He tried calling three times, but there was no answer.

"Dammit!" Iron Man exclaimed, "He probably thinks I'm going to try to ask him to join again. He won't pick up."

"In that case, I'll attempt to contact him." Strange said, closing his eyes tightly. After a few seconds, he opened them again, though he didn't quite feel ready to smile.

"Doctor Richards has been apprised of the situation." Strange said, "He should arrive shortly."

However, just then, there was a short beeping sound from four different sources in the room, as Iron Man realized that his Avengers communicator was going off. Quickly, he pulled it out of his pocket; a metal, disc-shaped item about the size of a lady's hand mirror. In just a moment, he'd flipped his open, revealing a circular screen with a digital image and a few buttons. The screen had centered automatically on an overhead map of the east hallway of the Avengers Mansion, showing the name "Spider-man" overlaid on it. Iron Man was becoming very upset, very quickly.

"Of all the rotten... Strange, Spider-man's sounded the emergency signal. I hope, for his sake, that this isn't a joke."

"It's no joke." Strange replied, opening his eyes again, "Spider-man's been attacked by assassins of some sort. I've never seen anyone like them before. Go check it out. I'll watch from here."

Iron Man just nodded once, and charged out of the lab in a hurry, to reach Spider-man's location. He was feeling very desperate. It was only a few hours after the new Avengers had been formed, and already they were on the verge of falling apart.

* * *

A silent alarm went off in the Widow's quarters as she was entering information into the Avengers' computer, while working with some of her equipment. The alarm manifested itself as a tiny symbol near the bottom of Widow's computer terminal, but she noticed it at once, though she didn't react immediately. Widow was almost entirely certain that the alarm wouldn't have been sounded if it had been something as minimal as a burglar, which meant that the Avengers were under attack by someone powerful; perhaps even a group of powerful people. She was also convinced that the attack was intended to break up the Avengers before they could develop a strong rapport as a team, which meant that someone obviously considered them a major threat.

Of course, Widow had a feeling that Spider-man and the others could cope with their attackers without her immediate help. She had more important matters to tend to, as she pulled out her laptop computer, and connected it to a nearby ethernet network, running rapid searches as fast as she could. She definitely needed more information about their attackers before she could afford to take action.

* * *

Spider-man had dodged gunfire in small, enclosed spaces before, although he hadn't expected to be doing it on his first night as an Avenger. The attacks were coming from three men, wearing dark masks and gloves, aiming their weapons at him from across the hallway and firing periodically. Spider-man had sounded the alarm as soon as he'd felt his spider-sense starting to go off, and only a moment later, he'd drawn the group's attention, and their fire, ducking out of the way of every source of danger with speed and agility beyond that of even Olympic-level athletes. As he leapt back and forth out of the path of the gunfire, he said aloud, "Well, that's about enough fun for one day," and tapped the catches on his web-shooters, causing thin webbing to shoot out from the machines on his wrists, and cover the guns of his enemies. In just a moment more, he was on top of them. Each was obviously a very talented fighter, but even their hardest blows did very little to him, and in a few moments, they were all unconscious on the ground.

"Guess you guys got the wrong address." Spider-man muttered, but just then, his spider-sense started going off again, and he realized that someone else had been hiding in the shadows behind the gunmen.

"That was an impressive display." Spider-man heard, and in seconds, a spray of green vapor shot in his direction. His spider sense was quick to alert him, of course, to the fact that the vapor was mondo dangerous, and he leapt backwards, out of the way of it as fast as he could, but the unconscious men at his feet weren't so lucky. The vapors, it seemed, were acidic in nature, and the bodies of the three unconscious gunmen began to melt hideously before Spider-man's eyes. In just a moment later, a figure dressed entirely in black, from head to toe leapt from the shadows and threw a punch at Spider-man, who had to duck backwards again to avoid it. However, the man's second punch, made with the same fist, twisted in a new direction hit Spider-man right in the face, knocking him backwards into the wall hard. Unlike the teammates he'd just killed, the new attacker was just as strong as Spider-man was. Spidey was still feeling that last punch. It made his whole head rattle.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet in a hurry, and away from his enemy's next punch, "You really oughtta knock off the steroids. It's not good for you."

"No drug could have given me this strength." his enemy replied, "It is a secret technique that one such as you could never master!"

"Oh, boy." Spider-man said from the place where he'd taken up residence on one of the walls, "Now you've gone and hurt my feelings."

As he said that, Spidey leapt off the wall, ducking under his enemy's fist, continuing to talk the whole time.

"I mean, I do my best, I use these crazy spider-powers..." at that he paused for a moment to slickly avoid a volley of punches and kicks being aimed at him by his enemy, "...and I try to do the right thing most of the time, and you have to go and judge me because I can't master your technique. Yessir, I'm feeling pretty miserable right now."

"In fact," Spider-man continued, as he delivered a successful blow to the invader's jaw, "I'm sure that when you're out cold in a prison cell somewhere for breaking and entering, assault and battery and... oh, yeah... murder, I'm just gonna be tossing and turning over what you just said. Tell you what..."

Spider-man's speed had increased as he'd talked, and he'd started connecting with his fists more and more often. At last, he slugged the intruder so hard in the stomach, that he was thrown back against the far wall. Seconds after that, he was webbed up against it, and Spider-man knocked him out with one last punch across the face.

"Why not just tell me again how miserable I should be?" Spider-man finished casually as the invader went limp, "Oh, wait. You can't. My bad."

Then, Spidey leaned forward, to remove the man's mask, when suddenly, clouds of green smoke began to emerge from his body. Spider-man had to jump back, to keep from touching the airborne acid as it rapidly consumed the assassin's entire body, seemingly from within. In seconds, there was nothing left of him.

For once, Peter Parker had nothing to say. Four men had attacked him right near the exit of the Avengers Mansion, and all had been killed by one of their own, right before his eyes, apparently just because they hadn't succeeded. It was a different kind of ball game than he was used to playing, where one simply webbed up the crooks and left them for the police. However, there were other things about the fates of his enemies that Spider-man found even more difficult to cope with.

It had still been less than a year since Uncle Ben had died, and he knew what it meant for a person to die; the seriousness and the finality of it; the loss felt by their friends and family. Although he knew that he hadn't killed any of the attackers directly, Peter had started to feel truly miserable over whatever role he'd played in their deaths. All curious thoughts about the strange powers of his last enemy had faded from his mind in seconds.

Spider-man was continuing to dwell on those thoughts nearly half a minute later when Iron Man appeared at one end of the hall, and spoke up, shocked at the sight of the human remains surrounding him, "Spider-man, what... What happened here?"

"Four guys..." Spider-man replied sadly, "They... they all just... died."

"We can talk about that somewhere else." Iron Man replied, scanning around with his sensors, to be sure there weren't any more invaders, before he led Spider-man towards the mansion's central study.

* * *

The Mole Man had sensed both the collapse of Crystal, and the attack on the mansion with his powerful ears, but he'd also sensed something else. The creatures of the Earth were sending out signals that something was very wrong nearby. He'd had small messenger-worms circling the mansion for the last several hours just to be safe; a type of swiftly-burrowing worm, that gave off hypersonic shrieks if the Earth they burrowed through was disturbed, and the Mole Man had a device on his person that could detect those shrieks easily. As soon as he'd seen the tiny blips on his hand-held, hypersonic radar, he'd left the mansion in their direction, and pressed a small button on his staff, slamming it against the ground with a thud.

In seconds, the vibrations generated by the Mole Man's staff had reached the being for whom they were intended. The Mole Man waited impatiently as a rumbling began to build in the ground, and continued building and building. Finally, a small mound of earth appeared before the Mole Man, moving through the ground towards him with both speed and force, then suddenly, a much larger mound appeared behind the small one, following it in the mansion's direction. In mere moments, the large mound of earth had caught up to the tiny one, and the head of a massive, sharp-toothed worm-beast emerged from deep underground. The creature was three times as wide as the Mole Man was tall, but what really interested the Mole Man was the black-clad man that the worm held in its jaws. As it had been instructed, the worm's teeth had clamped down around the man's legs, but hadn't penetrated his flesh.

"Well done, my pet." the Mole Man said to the worm with a pleased smile, "I see we've caught ourselves an intruder. Tell me, human... What were you doing burrowing through the ground?"

"You'll... You'll learn nothing from me!" the man exclaimed, both furious and terrified.

"No, I think I'll learn a great deal from you," the Mole Man replied, a bit irritated by the intruder's words. In just a second, the Mole Man aimed his staff at the man, and pressed another button, causing several sturdy cords to emerge from the tip of his staff, and entrap the invader, who cried out in miserable agony almost at once. It seemed he'd been prepared to face death for his sect, but never capture.

As the worm dropped its helpless captive to the ground, the Mole Man drew the Avengers Communicator from one of the pouches attached to his belt, and spoke aloud into it, for the first time.

"This is the Mole Man, Avengers. It seems I've uncovered another of the intruders, and mine is still alive. Send someone to my location to pick him up at once."

Then, the Mole Man closed his communicator and put it away again. The hardest part of what he'd just done had been stopping himself from killing the young assassin. Aside from that, nothing about being an Avenger really felt as uncomfortable as he'd first expected it to.

* * *

"The first five are gone now," the messenger reported, completing his mission, "They were defeated by only a few of these new Avengers."

"This is a serious matter." Was the reply from over the phone, "The Avengers are composed of all those who pose the greatest potential threat to our operations at this time. It is absolutely essential that they be crushed before they can do any damage. Hold your position. We're deploying dozens of our best operatives to the mansion, including three Grand Phantoms."

"Th-three?" the messenger asked in amazement and just a little terror, "Y-yes sir. I await further news."

As the messenger hung up the phone, miles from the mansion, he couldn't help but think that he'd never actually seen a Grand Phantom sent on a mission before. It was going to be an enormous incident.

* * *

Steven Strange frowned as he tried to read the intruder's mind. He was no slouch as a mind-reader for the most part, but there was something wrong; something blocking him out. He couldn't pick up any of the intruder's thoughts.

"I'm afraid I'll have to use the eye again to determine his true origins." Strange said to the other Avengers, but that was when he heard a voice from the shadows, coming from someone he also hadn't sensed.

"I can tell you where he comes from."

In seconds, a man had stepped from the shadows, dressed in black, with a mask and small horns like a devil. A small club was attached to one side of his belt, and a series of pouches were attached to the other side. Of all the people in that room, only Spider-man and the Widow had ever seen that person up close before. He was Daredevil; the man without fear.

"This man is an assassin working for a shinobi sect known as the Hand." Daredevil said as he approached the bound killer, "They're a selfish group of shinobi, who serve no master but themselves, and they're not above breaking the law. I'm sure that this one was sent to try to interfere with the formation of the Avengers, removing a potential obstacle to their criminal endeavors."

Daredevil spoke in a voice that was deep and thick, but it was probably a fake voice in an attempt to conceal everything about himself from others. It seemed like a shinobi trick. He himself, however, was helping them for the moment, which meant there was a chance he'd continue to help them in the future. Despite his frightening appearance, and the way he'd gained entry into the mansion without anyone noticing, Strange decided to trust him for the moment.

"If this man is working for a group, can we expect reprisals?" Strange asked.

"It's worse than that." Daredevil replied, "The Hand don't engage people openly, no matter who they are, until they've made significant preparations. They can't have been foolish enough to suppose that just a few shinobi would be enough to destroy you all. I suspect this first attack was intended to test your strength and resolve, but make no mistake; they will come here in force. These minor enemies were just a prelude."

"You said they make preparations..." Strange noted, at which point Daredevil reached for the bottom of the table in the room's center, and removed a small, circular device from it; about the size of a button.

"I suspect they discovered Tony Stark's purchase of Graystone Manor," Daredevil explained, "determined that he was doing so for Iron Man's sake, and he, for the sake of the Avengers, then snuck in and planted bugs almost immediately. They know, I'm certain, who's already joined, and they're drawing their plans based on that knowledge. You're going to need to respond quickly when they attack."

"You seem to be underestimating us." Namor said from nearby, "Whoever these people are, they are only human. With or without preparation..."

However, Daredevil wasn't replying to him, or even looking at him at all as he spoke, which Namor found very insulting, though he wasn't sure how the nonverbal reaction was intended to be taken.

Captain America, however, was ready with a reply to Namor's boast.

"The old Avengers were powerful too..."

Namor couldn't help but wince a little when he heard that. It was Captain America's way of saying "don't be so arrogant" without actually saying it, and it hadn't been too long before, that Namor had been praising the Captain's innate strategic mind. Words like the kind he'd just uttered were too prideful, and after all, pride goes before a fall.

Spider-man hadn't said a word as the others had been talking, but then, he'd just watched four men die right in front of him. Bitter, guilt-ridden thoughts filled his mind, but when he finally did speak, he sounded both nervous and curious.

"Daredevil, the guys I fought..." Spider-man said after hesitating for quite a while, "I didn't kill them, but they died anyway... Why?"

Daredevil looked over at Spider-man, and saw his sadness and worry in the younger man's slumping posture. He took a moment to carefully consider his words, before he replied to Spider-man's question.

"The Hand uses a device called a pressure detonator, which is implanted in their heads. If one of them is knocked unconscious, or wounded in a critical area, the device senses it, and sets off an acid bomb implanted beside one of their ribs. The acid then escapes in a liquid form that travels through the body and becomes gaseous as soon as it makes contact with air."

"I... I mean... why?" Spider-man asked again, and once again, Daredevil found himself faced with a very difficult problem. It wouldn't be so easy to explain things like that to Spider-man.

"The Hand are all sworn never to betray their sect, even to the point of death." Daredevil said after another short pause, "They die when they're in danger of being captured, because, if they were captured, there's a risk of someone tracking down the other members of their sect, or even learning to duplicate the special techniques that they learned over the course of their time as shinobi."

"But I still don't understand why they'd be so ready to just throw their lives away." Spider-man said, still obviously shaken.

"Is that part really so hard to understand?" Daredevil asked, "No Hand shinobi expects to fail in their mission, and as for being willing to die to protect something you believe in or care about, I think most of the people in this room understand that feeling."

Spider-man just nodded once, and fell silent again, but he still had obvious doubts about fighting that kind of enemy. It felt too much like killing, even though he wasn't the one who'd chosen to kill.

* * *

The seventh Grand Phantom spread the cards out on the table in front of him, as he planned for the upcoming attacks. Of course, each card represented an important stage of the plan, and all three Grand Phantoms would be needed for the Mansion itself. There were too many metahumans in that one place, and thinning them out was top priority. Still, there were other factors to be managed. According to the audio signals they'd received from the bugs in the mansion itself, one of the Avengers had already been immobilized by an accident of some kind, involving a machine, and another; Black Bolt was being kept occupied with keeping her alive. It had become obvious pretty quickly to the seventh Grand Phantom, or "Seven" as he liked to be called, that the longer Crystal was at death's door, the better the chances for victory on their part. It wasn't Crystal herself who was a threat, however. Her powers seemed limited, and confined by many factors. Black Bolt, though, was quite possibly the most powerful of the new Avengers, and his voice was the one weapon against which there was no defense. He would stay at Crystal's side as long as he needed to. That much was obvious. That was what family was all about.

The only other thing that threatened to drag Crystal back into the land of the living was the scientist named Reed Richards, who the Avengers had summoned to their aid once they'd realized that their experience alone was insufficient to heal Crystal's injuries. Of course, keeping him from reaching Crystal before the attack was brought down was in the best interests of the Hand, which was why another small force had been sent to the Baxter Building, to keep Mister Fantastic busy...

* * *

Reed Richards fitted another of his customized scanning devices onto his belt as he headed for the elevator to the roof. The call from Doctor Strange appearing in his thoughts themselves had been a very odd one, but then, Reed had seen all sorts of odd things over the course of the last year, and naturally, once he'd heard that Crystal had been hurt, he'd agreed to go to the new Avengers Mansion and examine her. Even though, for the moment, Reed would have preferred not to be directly involved with the Avengers, he couldn't just let Crystal die. She was both an innocent victim, and a friend of his family, and he couldn't forsake either one.

However, as Reed climbed up the stairs to the roof, he started to hear movement outside. He knew that Johnny was out, Sue was in the middle of an important business meeting, and Ben was... Well, Ben usually made more noise than that, especially when he was tinkering with the Fantasticar. Reed knew that whoever was on the roof, they didn't have permission to be there, so he prepared himself for an attack, as he opened the door, and was immediately pelted with several blasts of flame.

The flames had come at him quickly, but he was ready to react, flattening himself against the ground, then twisting around to one side. The flames changed direction as Reed moved, trying to follow him, but at least the maneuver had given him the chance to see who was shooting; a group of men in black clothes, gloves and masks, wielding flame-throwers. There was another who stood behind them, but Reed would have to worry about him later.

The flames were continuing the follow him wherever he went, as Reed fled along the building. He knew that fire was one of the things his rubbery body couldn't just bounce back from, which meant that he needed to stop the attackers quickly.

In a single, swift motion, well-practiced in his spare time, Reed Richards sprang into the air, over the heads of his attackers. They tried to follow him with their weapons, but the sun got in their eyes as they did so, and in the moment of hesitation that caused, Reed took action, swinging his arms around at ground level like enormous, thick whips. In seconds, he'd tripped up all three of the men with the flame-throwers, causing them to fall to the ground, and shortly after that, he'd taken away their weapons.

However, the last of the attackers had begun advancing on Reed, before he'd even finished disarming the first three, and Reed could tell from quite a distance away that the man had some sort of special power centering around heat. He seemed to be radiating heat all around himself as he came closer, so Reed grabbed one of the flame throwers, and struck the last attacker across the face with it.

The problem was that it seemed that generating heat wasn't the only special power of Reed's final enemy, because when he'd been struck across the face by the thick, metal weapon, he hadn't even flinched. He was, Reed realized, obviously a lot stronger than he looked; maybe even as strong as Ben.

Suddenly, the assassin braced one foot against the ground, and in a flash, he was standing right next to Reed, reaching out with one smoking hand, as if his entire body had become a glowing ember. Reed felt the scorching heat from the man's hand even before it made contact, although he managed to back away before the killer could get a firm grip on him.

Reed was still feeling the burning sensation in his side, and was definitely starting to get worried. He knew he had to do something. The assassin could move as fast as he could, and seemed to have powers uniquely suited for combating his, which meant that Reed needed some kind of weapon to use against him; something big enough to do some damage, or at least catch him off guard. Reed could only see a few things nearby that fit that description, however.

Quickly, Reed headed for the JUMP, until he was standing right in front of it, then grabbed a wrench from inside, and prepared to stand against his enemy. The killer was upon him in seconds, using that speed of his, that bordered on temporary invisibility, and the moment he was close enough, Reed's hands expanded, dropping the wrench, and tipping the JUMP over onto the confused assassin.

"I'll have to hope that was enough." Reed thought silently, but to his dismay, the JUMP seemed to start tearing itself apart a moment later.

Metal twisted, glass shattered, and soon, the front end of the JUMP was in pieces, and the killer who'd been trapped under it was free again, and about to continue his attack, but Reed had seen enough. Obviously, the killer was strong enough to take massive punishment, which meant that he might not be killed by Reed's next plan.

Seizing one of the pieces of metal that the assassin had torn out of the JUMP, which was shaped a little like a half-moon, Reed swung it around with his left hand, grabbing the killer in his makeshift spoon.

"Happy landings, friend." Reed said, shoving the metal scoop to the edge of the roof, and tipping it over, sending the superhuman shinobi plunging over the side, falling and falling to the pavement below.

When Reed turned back to face the three he'd disarmed before, he found that they were gone, but he knew he couldn't waste time searching for them. He had to help Crystal. Quickly, he got into his segment of the Fantasticar, and put his key into it, powering it up as it took to the air, headed for the new Avengers Mansion.

* * *

The Avengers hadn't had much time to make preparations before the attack came down. The Hand had planned their attack well, descending by helicopter to the roof of the mansion. In moments, they'd broken in.

Jennifer Walters smiled as she shrugged off a few smaller attackers. There wasn't much about fighting that made Jennifer happy, but at the moment, she was fighting alongside someone who could really keep up, and then some. Her partner was Miss Marvel, and together, they plowed through several dozen enemy attackers, although Miss Marvel's speed seemed to give her an edge in catching the fast-moving little guys. The wave of enemies couldn't continue forever, of course, and when it stopped, there'd be a chance to get back, and tell the others that they could power down.

However, as the minor enemies seemed to fall away, Jennifer Walters could have sworn she heard a voice in the depths of her mind, telling her that it wasn't over yet. There was another shinobi there, different from the others, and he was about to attack.

Only seconds after the last ninja fell to the ground, Miss Marvel saw something that chilled her somewhat. Somehow, in all the laps she'd taken around the room, she hadn't seen the greenish puddle off in one corner as being a threat, but it had moved closer to the center of the room, as the less-powerful shinobi failed, and soon, it had risen up, forming arms, legs, and a head, until it stood in the room's center, just looking at the two women curiously.

"Now, that is a feat I never would have expected from female warriors." the figure made of green liquid said, "It seems that there are many things in the world that continue to surprise me, day after day."

"Are you one of them?" Carol demanded.

"In a sense." the liquid-man replied, "I am the fifth Grand Phantom of the hand. I am here to destroy the Avengers."

Then suddenly, the nebulous torso of the being seemed to start vibrating rapidly with greater and greater force and violence, until a mouth formed and opened on the front of its face, and in seconds, an eardrum-shattering shriek erupted from its mouth, rendering both women unconscious, in spite of their monstrous strength.

However, they weren't the only ones effected by the cacophony.

* * *

The supersonic scream was heard throughout the whole mansion in some capacity, although most of the Avengers didn't collapse under its force. However, Namor, Daredevil, and the Mole Man each had very sensitive ears. The moment the scream began, they each heard it with horrible clarity, and rushed to cover their ears, but it was too loud; too jarring. Each had fallen to the ground a short time later, causing the other Avengers who were in the same room with them to become deeply worried. They had no way of knowing what had caused the unnatural-sounding wail, but in a flash, it had put some of their most powerful members out of the game.

Black Bolt heard the scream from his place in the lab, but more than that; he felt it. Its vibrations were intercepted by the tuning fork in his head, and processed. It gave him a fairly clear idea of what had made that scream, and how such an attack might be undone, but he couldn't really do anything about it, while Crystal lay dying in front of him. She seemed to have relaxed a little more, as the sharp shriek had reached her long ears, but that didn't mean that her life wasn't still in jeopardy, if Black Bolt left her side...

* * *

"Seven, Three." Five said as he turned away from the two women he'd just rendered unconscious, "They should be ready for you. Don't waste time sending in lesser shinobi, though. These Avengers can wade through them like a cool pond."

"A pity" came the reply through the small radio attached to his ear, "I had hoped that our training had yielded better results than that. We'll begin phase two shortly."

* * *

"These guys... keep getting lucky." Spider-man said as he looked down at Daredevil's prostrate body.

"No." Captain America replied, "I don't think so. I think it's much more likely that they've planned all of this out in advance, in which case, they must have some way to communicate with one another, to make their strategy work. Iron Man, can you detect radio signals used for things like that?"

Iron Man was marginally pleased to be hearing Captain America talk like that again. He was getting used to the idea of leading once more, and taking up the responsibility of planning for a team's actions. It was just what he was most needed to do in that instance. Captain America was a true, natural leader.

"Sure." Iron Man replied to the question, "Just a second."

Quickly, Iron Man activated a program inside his armor, and started scanning the area for radio waves. Sure enough, there were short-range, radio transmissions being exchanged between three sources nearby.

"Yup. Radio waves. Kind of basic, really." Iron Man said, "I could transmit anything I wanted to along them from here."

"Good." Captain America replied, a new plan forming in his mind, "Did you get a recording of that scream we all heard a moment ago?"

* * *

A sharp, high-pitched wail blasted out of the radio transmitters that Seven and Three were using just a moment later, forcing them to dig the small machines out of their ears in a hurry. Of course, they both knew what had happened immediately; the Avengers had compromised their radio link.

"We should move in as quickly as we can." Seven said, "They'll be on the alert, but that last attack must have disabled many of them."

No more words were shared between them as the two sped up, leaping towards the mansion in a flash.

* * *

The Wellington Tower on the edge of New York's central business district was a place of business for many different kinds of people. It was the kind of place where fortunes were made, and competition was fierce. It also had the best security system money could buy, but then, money can only do so much.

"Hey, what's up?" Terry said, looking up from his newspaper at the monitors he was supposed to be keeping track of. His partner Darrell had been listening to his Ipod, so he hadn't been paying very close attention either, but he saw what Terry had referred to. The four cameras in Okiru Manera's office, in one of the building's top floors had gone out, and were displaying only static. That was very bad news. Mister Manera was a billionaire several times over, and he'd wanted those cameras kept on for security reasons, and to accurately record his business meetings. They needed to figure out what was wrong with the video feed in a hurry.

* * *

The attack came quickly. Spider-man and Iron Man were at the front of the Avenger's defenses when the two new invaders attacked, one of them plowing right through the two of them, and into the central hall of the mansion, while the other seemed to teleport in a flash, and in seconds, a cry of pain was heard from Doctor Strange.

However, no sooner had the enemy ninja downed the leader of the Avengers with a blow to the back of the head, then he was struck away from the side. Captain America had delivered a quick blow with the edge of his shield, then followed it up with a powerful kick, knocking the teleporting ninja away. The other, it seemed, was extremely strong; perhaps even on the level that Thor had once been at. Against him, Captain America probably couldn't win. The important thing was to fight the battles that he could.

Spider-man was still aching all over from the pounding that strong brute had given him a moment before, probably without even half thinking about it, but he'd fought other strong enemies before, and he knew of a few ways to take advantage of that.

As the man continued charging, Spider-man shot out his webs, grabbing the guy's lower legs, and tripping him up, sending him falling to the floor. In seconds, Iron Man was on top of him, grabbing the man by one arm, and throwing him back out, into the front lawn.

Iron Man continued to charge after the invader, even after he'd been sent flying outside, but it was, as it turned out, his mistake. The man had braced his feet, in moments, against the ground, and retaliated with a powerful punch that twisted Iron Man's armor where it hit, knocking him away. When Tony hit the dirt, he could tell that his armor had been badly damaged by his enemy's attack, to the point where it might even be impossible to continue fighting, but the worst part of it all was that his foe had gotten his bearings again, and seemed eager to finish him off.

Just as the shinobi charged forward for the kill, however, a ring of fire sprung up, entrapping him in the flames, and there was the Human Torch, standing in midair nearby, looking down at his captured foe.

"Don't try it." Johnny said, "Don't even think about it."

"You must know these flames won't hurt me." the shinobi scoffed.

"Maybe not..." Johnny replied sternly, "But then, you've gotta be wearing that mask for a reason, and something tells me it isn't fireproof. Right now, I'm holding off on the big flames, but if you take another step towards Iron Man, I swear I'll burn that mask right off your face."

Three was extremely humiliated by the turn that circumstances had taken. He could still escape, of course, but the mission's eventual success seemed to hinge on the actions of Five, just as he'd boasted before. That was when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small, flying vehicle landing on the mansion grounds. In seconds, a man had emerged, dressed in the uniform of the Fantastic Four.

The man rushed forward, with extremely long steps, towards the front entrance, when he noticed that one of the people fighting on the mansion grounds was Johnny Storm. Reed paused for a second, not sure what to say, but Johnny knew the words that he had to use. Though he'd fought well in spite of it, the truth was that Johnny Storm was very distracted that day. There was only one thing he wanted Reed Richards to do at the Avengers' Mansion.

"Hurry up and save Crys, big brain!" Johnny exclaimed impatiently, "We can talk about the rest of this later."

Reed paused for a moment longer, but finally nodded, and rushed inside, ignoring the vicious battle that Hawkeye and Captain America had engaged in with their other enemy. He had a life to save.

* * *

Using his powers to walk down whole flights of stairs, and through hallways in the blink of an eye, Reed had reached the lab only seconds after he'd entered the building, and found himself deeply wishing that Strange were there to tell him what Black Bolt was thinking. Neither Black Bolt, nor Crystal was in any sort of condition to describe to him what was really wrong with her.

Of course, Reed knew a little bit about what had happened. In his telepathic summons, Strange had described one of the Giant Man's old devices, which had apparently changed something within Crystal, so that at least gave him a few hunches, as he pulled a customized bio-scanning device from his belt, and started tuning it. In seconds, it was displaying a chart of Crystal's inner anatomy, and Reed saw at once what was wrong.

"You knew she was gaining and losing mass, correct?" Reed asked Black Bolt, who simply nodded in reply, "That makes this easier. You see, Black Bolt, I think that Crystal's body was exposed to Pym Particles, which naturally change the mass of whatever they touch. The Pym particles, as they're now called, were, I believe, designed as part of a machine, and were intended to be controlled by a central computer brain. By changing the mass of certain objects, they also change the way those objects experience the concepts of gravity, time and space, which I'm almost certain enables antigravity, and faster-than-light travel. The problem is that without a computer brain to control them, these particles are reacting randomly, changing the mass of anything around them; in this case Crystal."

Black Bolt quickly pointed across the room, to Iron Man's desktop computer, but Reed just shook his head.

"There isn't any computer on Earth advanced enough to interface with these alien machines." Reed replied, "Not even the military intranet can do that. However, Pym found a way of getting around that limitation. Rather than trying to control the particles with any kind of computer, he must have linked them directly into his own brain. The human brain is complex enough to process that kind of data, of course, but his machine broke when he used it to give the Wasp her special powers. I doubt he had another, or he'd have brought it to someone's attention, which means I'll have to start from scratch if I want to try to replicate what he did."

Black Bolt looked around for a moment, until he found a small, empty syringe nearby, and motioned with it towards one of Crystal's arms, but Reed shook his head again.

"I wish it were that simple, sir, but Pym Particles are alien in origin, and much too small to simply be drawn out like blood. We don't have any means of actually removing them from Crystal's body at this point. The best we can hope for is to try to configure her brain patterns to the same wavelength as the particles, then hope they get the hint, and stop what they're doing."

Black Bolt seemed to understand what Reed was proposing, even if he didn't know how, exactly, to go about doing that. It already seemed that Reed had a plan of a very specific kind, as he pulled three small devices from his pockets, and connected them to one another. In just a second, he'd assembled what looked like a small crown, with a cord on one side, and quickly fitted it over Crystal's head, then plugged the small cord into the nearest computer by a port on the front. The computer screen lit up almost at once, with images of the inside of Crystal's brain, as Reed put his other scanning device down, and started typing complex commands into the keyboard. If his machine worked the way it was designed to, there was a very, very slim chance that Crystal might survive.

* * *

In his time, Captain America had been called one of the best martial artists in the world. It wasn't the kind of title that got tossed around lightly in those days, and Cap was pleased to find that his trip into the future, beyond the reach of what would have been his natural lifetime, had done nothing to diminish his skills in that area. He could tell, because although the intruder before him was one of the best fighters he'd ever seen, Captain America was steadily gaining the upper hand.

Of the two invaders that Captain America had seen, the one with the monstrous strength had been successfully imprisoned by the Human Torch, and the other was right in front of him, trying his best to gain ground against him. What had really made the fight a challenge, of course, hadn't been merely his enemy's skill in the martial arts, but his seeming ability to teleport from one place to another instantly. Cap had needed to defend himself more than once from attacks that were coming at him from behind, as the fight had continued. In fact, he'd found it more useful to keep his shield strapped to his back after a while, just to block the blows of his enemy more quickly. Through it all, Hawkeye had been off to one side of the room, ready with his bow, just in case the invader tried something more substantial than teleporting around. However, when the ninja finally did decide to try a new technique, it quickly became obvious that a single arrow would no longer do much good against him.

Where once there had been a fighter who was only slightly less talented than Captain America, there suddenly stood ten, and every one of them attacked at once, striking against Cap from all sides. He fought bravely enough, defending himself with some difficulty from the first two, but then, the third would strike, followed by a fourth and a fifth. Hawkeye had shot two of them in the chest before one of the others overpowered him from behind, and Captain America was the next to fall. The enemies who'd been shot seemed to have dissolved in green smoke, but there were still eight left. That was when Spider-man reappeared.

In a flash, Spider-man had begun his attack, diving into his foes, and punching one of them right in the chest, sending him flying into the far wall, and causing him to dissolve in more green smoke. That was when Spider-man realized the horrible truth of what he was facing. Those beings before him were just as prone to self-destruction as the enemies he'd fought before, and that sent doubts shooting through his mind again.

"Can I do this?" He wondered, "Can I stop them in good conscience? Am I already a killer?"

The thoughts were bitter and distracting, and pretty soon, two of his enemies had grabbed him by each arm, their combined strength forcing him down, as a fifth pulled out a knife, advancing on him.

"Is that how it has to be?" Peter wondered silently, as the one with the knife got closer, "Is it kill or be killed? Isn't there another way?"

However, just as he was thinking those thoughts, hesitating to take action, another thought shot through his mind, and it clearly wasn't one of his.

"You need to be slapped silly, kid. There ain't always another way. Sometimes you've just gotta learn how to fight hard when things get real serious."

"But how can I fight these people, knowing I'd be killing them?" Spider-man asked, feeling miserable.

"Because you ain't killin' them, kid." the reply came, "They're killin' them. They're the ones who made the choice to kill themselves if things got rough enough, not you. If you didn't make the choice to kill, you ain't a killer."

Spider-man still wasn't sure who'd sent him that message, but he knew that it was true. He wasn't a killer, because he'd never chosen to kill. To have someone die through a person's actions or inactions is easy, but it doesn't make you a killer. Peter wasn't guilty of killing Uncle Ben, and he wasn't guilty of killing those assassins. It was a bright, liberating thought, and the moment he thought of it, Peter's legs lifted off the ground, kicking the man with the knife into the nearest wall, where he dissolved, then whipped both legs up, to kick two more of the killers who were holding his arms. The other two weren't strong enough to keep hold of him on their own.

However, as Spider-man dispatched them, the last of the assassins, who'd been standing off away from the others, saw the dangerous position he was in, and realized that he couldn't defeat Spider-man, or free Three from the human torch without help. Quickly, Seven teleported outside, wondering what had happened to Five, as a fresh wall of fire rose up around him, and he heard the human torch saying "Alright. I guess that's it."

In seconds, Spider-man was out in the yard, not too far from the two flame rings that held the invaders. Although he and Johnny were the only ones still conscious and unoccupied, it seemed that the Avengers had won that battle, in the end.

However, something was still wrong. The two invaders that Johnny held captive didn't show any sign, in their posture, of being worried. In fact, each seemed to be preparing for something.

That was when Peter's spider sense started doing the fandango, and he quickly leapt to one side, as a wall of greenish fluid rose up in the place where he and the Torch had been. Spider-man had narrowly escaped that attack, but Johnny Storm had not. Already, the liquid had put out his flames, and was rushing into his lungs, trying to drown him. As Johnny lost consciousness, the flame barriers he'd used to trap the other invaders came down, and Spider-man found himself faced with three enemies, instead of just one; the strong monster who'd crippled Iron Man, the one who'd beaten Captain America and Hawkeye, and another, new figure, who reminded Spider-man of the water man he'd met not long before, in that he seemed to be made almost entirely out of liquid. Spider-man knew he was in trouble, even as the strong brute dashed forward, too fast for Spidey to keep track of, and grabbed his head in one hand, slamming him hard against the ground. In seconds, Spider-man was out cold.

Three left Spider-man where he was for the moment, as he convened with the others about what to do next. Of course, a plan of action was still needed.

"I'd kill most of them right now," the liquid-like Five said, "particularly Iron Man and Doctor Strange. They seem to be the ones supporting this group the most. If we can take out the others as well, it'll benefit the Hand greatly. I'd rather not have to do this all over again."

"Agreed." Three replied, moving over to Iron Man, and preparing to drive his fist downward, into the armored warrior's head, when suddenly, a tall, dark figure had grabbed him by the wrist.

* * *

"What?" Okiru asked into the telephone, as the security team informed him of the bad news, "Well, hurry and replace them. I have business to take care of this afternoon, and when I come back, I want..."

"I know all about your business." said a voice from the shadows behind him, "Hang up the phone, Mister Manera."

It was, Okiru realized, the voice of a woman. She had a thick Russian accent, and in her tone of voice, there was a vicious note. Nevertheless, Okiru hung up the phone as she'd insisted, and turned to face her.

"Who are you" Okiru demanded, "to barge into my office, and make demands of me?"

"I'm Widow." the woman replied, stepping forth from the shadows, though it didn't reveal much more about her. She was dressed all in black, with small machines of some kind on her wrists and belt. She stood perfectly upright, as she advanced toward Okiru, and she wore no mask on her face, showing her facial features and short, red hair to the world. Such a lack of any disguise sent a clear message to Okiru. She was Widow, and Widow was all that she was.

"I go where I have to," Widow continued, glaring at Okiru, "and I have important business with you, Mister Manera."

"Do not call me that." Okiru said angrily, "If you wish to do business with me, you will call me Okiru."

"I could." Widow replied, her glare never wavering, "Or I could just call you Grand Phantom One."

"Pardon me?" Okiru asked, suddenly becoming worried.

"Let's not mince words over this." Widow said, "The evidence was hard to gather, but now that I have it, I'm convinced I could prove your identity in a court of law."

"You do not understand the way that courts work, woman." Okiru replied, "The poor do not punish the rich in court."

"I could call on the resources of Tony Stark for a court case against you." Widow said, "He's backing the Avengers at the moment, and I don't think anyone could call him poor."

Indeed, Stark Industries was one of the largest companies in the world. Okiru recognized the name immediately, though he still didn't seem worried.

"These are just copies of some of the data I've gathered on you and your Hand friends." Widow said, tossing a CD case with a disc inside onto Manera's desk, "Look it over, and always remember that the Avengers can fight the Hand, and Stark can fight the wealthy. If you ever attack the Avengers directly again, you'll need to choose which life you want to keep; this nice, rich life of business, or the brutal life of the Hand leader."

At once, Manera rushed forward, a sword appearing in his hand, as he charged Widow, but she kicked it aside with a swift swipe, and spun around, striking him in the face with her other leg. He was on the ground in seconds, as he heard the words "I'll be watching you."

By the time Manera was able to leap to his feet again, Widow was gone, and all that was left was the disc, and the threat hovering in mid-air over his head, like one final storm cloud, raining on his parade.

* * *

Three felt real pain for the first time in years, as Black Bolt slugged him halfway across the grounds, away from the fallen Iron Man. Of all the Avengers, he was the one they'd been least prepared to fight. They'd hoped that he would remain in the lab until they'd had the chance to finish off the other Avengers, so that they might not have to fight him at all. In the best case scenario that they'd planned out, the deaths of the other Avengers would have encouraged the inhumans to go back into seclusion again, but it seemed that things weren't going to be that easy.

Already, it seemed obvious that Seven's tricks and techniques would mean very little against the inhuman king, and Three's brute strength had already been proven ineffective against him.

At once, the liquid form of Five advanced on Black Bolt, twisting around, to corner him off, and emitting his ear-piercing wail again, but even as the wail began, it started to die down. The tuning fork on Black Bolt's head was vibrating more rapidly, sucking the very sound vibrations out of the air, as Five began to realize that there was only one other way to defeat Black Bolt, if he was immune to the supersonic scream.

In a single, swift motion, Five dove at Black Bolt, embedding himself in the inhuman king's mouth and nose. It was a dirty way to win a fight, as it had been with the Human Torch, but the Hand shinobi did what was needed. If Black Bolt drowned, victory would be theirs. He couldn't stop Five without using his voice, and he couldn't use his voice without destroying everything and everyone nearby. As long as he was still trying to protect his allies, Five thought, Black Bolt was going to die.

However, it seemed that Black Bolt knew precisely what kind of position he was being put in, because as soon as he'd realized that he couldn't breathe, he'd taken off into the air, traveling upwards for mile after mile, with the liquid body of Five still clogging his throat. At last, miles over the city, Black Bolt whispered a single word, at a volume just slightly above his lowest.

No one could tell what word Black Bolt was trying to say, but the moment he whispered it, destructive, violent vibrations filled his throat, striking Five mercilessly with their full force. In a second, his liquid body shot back out of Black Bolt's throat, but it was too late. The vibrations were tearing him apart on a subcellular level, and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it. Black Bolt's voice was a weapon too destructive for even liquid to survive unscathed. In mere moments, there was nothing left of the being who'd called himself Five.

When Black Bolt got back to the Avengers Mansion, he was pleased to see that he'd been high enough in the air to avoid harming any part of the city with his whisper, but both of the other ninjas who'd attacked the mansion seemed to have disappeared.

* * *

Seven and Three had little to say in their defense when they returned for their meeting with the other Grand Phantoms of the Hand. Five had been killed, and the two of them had returned in total failure, made all the worse by how close their victory had seemed, if not for Black Bolt's interference. Such a monstrous failure would bring dishonor and shame to them both, and limit the morale of all those who served under their command. Nonetheless, they were still Grand Phantoms, and it was still their responsibility to be a part of the meeting of the nine remaining Hand leaders on the subject of the Avengers. It was their duty to fulfill.

"Why did the mission fail?" One asked, almost as soon as he'd seated himself at the head of the long table.

Seven looked to Three to answer that question. Three was older, and had been a Grand Phantom several years longer. He knew how to answer the questions of One.

"We failed" Three said quickly, "because our power was insufficient to complete the task we were given."

"Give me an explanation." One said, "If that's really your evaluation, explain it."

"We planned our attack flawlessly." Three said, "We used our powers with a single, calculated design in mind. We adapted well when we were forced to modify the plan to account for a few surprises that they set in our paths, and we took advantage of every weak point they had. However, Reed Richards got to the mansion, and he must had saved Crystal's life, because Black Bolt appeared. He was the one who killed Five, and made it obvious to us that we couldn't defeat him."

"Are you suggesting that team two should have done their job better?" One asked, "Are you blaming them for your failure."

"No." Three replied, no nervousness in his voice as he spoke, "As I said, this mission's failure occurred only because our power was not enough to destroy Black Bolt. It would be a waste of time for me to consider other factors. Time and luck were on our side today. We only lost because we lacked the power that we needed."

One nodded for a moment, deep in thought. He was still shaken over the visit he'd received earlier, and he knew, just then, that Widow's threats about the power of the Avengers hadn't been idle ones. Hundreds of years of training and magic had gone into creating the devastating force and technique used by the Hand shinobi, and yet, they still couldn't fight on the level of the Avengers.

"Perhaps we've attacked this problem in the wrong way." One finally said, after spending several seconds in thought, "These Avengers, it seems, are not merely a few figureheads to be lopped off, or a small party to be assassinated. I would go so far as to say that they could be even more dangerous than an army. If their power really is so different from our own; so much more advanced... We may be witnessing another gunpowder transition in Ninjitsu."

All of the Grand Phantoms knew what a gunpowder transition was. It was a prominent point in shinobi history, when the rifle had been invented, and a very grave decision had needed to be made by the Hand leaders of the time. Several of their assassins were being shot with the new weapon, and it was damaging the confidence of the shinobi, so in the end, the Hand had acquired a large stash of firearms for themselves, and begun training their shinobi in the aiming, firing and maintenance of guns. The enemy had acquired a weapon that gave them an unfair advantage, and the Hand had taken that weapon, and improved on the technique with which it was used. It had been that way with every weapon that had been created over the last thousand years.

However, as the twenty-first century had dawned, new weapons and abilities had begun to surface, which even the shinobi's special blend of weaponry, magic and technique couldn't seem to oppose; beings enhanced by alien technology, mighty individuals representing non-human societies long-forgotten, new levels of technological exploration, and even more powerful champions of sorcery. They were too much for even the most gifted shinobi to destroy, even when they worked together, and things had only kept getting worse and worse in that respect.

"We must find a way to use their new power for ourselves." One muttered at last, "We must find a way to become true superhumans. Until we do, it would be premature to challenge these Avengers again..."

* * *

It had been extremely fortunate that Crystal's operation had turned out so well. Reed had needed to rework the functions of three whole sections of her brain using his machine, which was delicate work, even for the best doctors and scientists. It was a patchwork job, and it definitely wasn't the same method that Hank Pym had used to become Giant Man, but Crystal's condition seemed to have stabilized, though she still might not wake up for several more hours. At the very least, Reed's part in helping her to recover was done, which meant that he could get back to the Baxter building. He had several other important experiments to get through if he didn't want to fall behind in his schedule.

Quickly, Reed gathered all the customized devices he'd brought with him to the mansion, and disassembled them, reattaching them to his belt neatly, as he headed for the exit. However, just as Reed stepped out into the Yard, and started to head towards the Fantasticar section that he'd parked not far away, he heard the voice of Iron Man, who'd apparently replaced his damaged chest plate with a new one. In any case, there was no sign, on his armor, of the injuries he'd suffered an hour before.

"Doctor Richards; wait." Iron Man said. Reed could tell that Iron Man wasn't just going to let it go if he left right then, so he decided to listen for a moment, as the armored warrior said his piece.

"I... I guess this changes things a little." Iron Man said, after pausing for a moment, "I mean, between you and... and the Avengers."

Reed felt pretty bad about what he had to say next. Iron Man sounded almost like a child in the way he sought attention and help; trying his best to get what he wanted, while still being forced to acknowledge the freedom of others. There was something in that kind of approach, that felt distressingly like innocence, laced with loneliness. Iron Man was a hard person to refuse a request from. Nevertheless...

"If you're trying to ask me if I've changed my mind about joining," Reed replied, "then no. Nothing's changed. Iron Man, the reason I didn't join isn't because I don't think I could benefit the team, or don't think the Avengers need me. I think they need all the help they can get. I didn't join because I wasn't sure what the Avengers were going to do with all this power they've managed to gather, and at the moment, I'm still not sure. All I know for certain is that within hours of joining your team, a good friend of mine nearly died, and someone tried to kill you all. Those men you fought today were hired killers of the most skilled and efficient kind. Someone was paying them to do away with you. Do you know what that means?"

"If people like that are just roaming free," Iron Man replied, determination replacing his former uncertainty, "it means the world needs the Avengers even more than I thought."

"You're not afraid for your life, because you're trusting your mask to protect you from those kinds of reprisals." Reed explained, "I don't wear a mask, Iron Man. I can't afford to have trained killers threatening the people I care about."

Iron Man didn't say a word for a few moments, but when he did speak again, his words were vicious, and they cut like long, sharp swords.

"If you just don't want to join, Doctor Richards, that's one thing. If you have prior obligations, that makes perfect sense. If you don't trust the Avengers, that's another valid reason for not joining. Frankly, the idea of you not joining our group doesn't rile me much, but if you're not joining because you're afraid of the enemies you might make, then I'm just glad that Johnny isn't as big a coward as you are."

With that final shot, Iron Man turned, and headed back for the mansion, to tend to the repairs, and the injured.

* * *

Spider-man sat in silence on the top of one of the Mansion's stronger roofs. He'd been there for the last half hour, and was almost completely certain that his aunt would be wondering where he was. He was a lot later than he'd planned to be in getting back, and yet, he was too distracted by what had happened that day. He couldn't get it out of his mind; not just the fight, and his own eventual defeat, but the message he'd heard in his thoughts.

"Are you up here because you wanted to be alone?" Spider-man heard. Sure enough, it was Daredevil, having fully recovered, and seating himself nearby, on the same rooftop. Spider-man trusted Daredevil. They'd worked together before. It was easy to talk about his problems with Daredevil, in a way he never could have with Aunt May.

"Well, it's crazy..." Spider-man said, "But while I was fighting, I started to have doubts. I wasn't sure I could knock those guys out, knowing it was the same thing as killing them... Then, when they were just about to finish me off, I heard this weird voice. Never heard him before, but he gave me some really good advice about choices, and he told me I needed to be slapped silly."

Daredevil didn't look at Spider-man while he was talking, but he did start smiling.

"I think I know the guy you're talking about." Daredevil said, still grinning underneath his mask, "Don't worry about him. He's basically on the right side. In fact, he's one of the wisest men I know. I didn't know he was a telepath though. That's new information."

"Well, he did me a big favor today." Spider-man said, standing up and getting ready for the trip back home, "Next time you see him, give him my thanks. I think I'm starting to get over a whole lot of guilt issues I used to have, thanks to him. It feels pretty good. Well, anyway, thanks for the news. I've got someplace to be, but I'll see you around."

Daredevil just nodded as Spider-man took off through the city, swinging from web to web as he headed clear across town.

* * *

Reed was surprised to find Johnny sitting on a chair at the far side of his lab, when he got back to the Baxter building. Maybe, in some ways, Reed really was feeling bitter about Johnny's decision to join the Avengers, and not just because it made him look bad in Iron Man's eyes. He'd started to feel just a little alienated as he'd made the journey back to the Fantastic Four's base of operations. He kept trying to fool himself into thinking that Johnny had made the choice to join the Avengers, just because he was a foolish kid who craved excitement, but...

The brilliant scientist sighed deeply. He knew that if not for Johnny Storm's cleverness, the Fantastic Four would still be imprisoned in the inhuman dungeons, and the human race would be under the rule of Maximus. Johnny was certainly no scientist, but all the assumptions that Reed had previously made about his immaturity had recently been looking a lot like straws for him to grasp.

Reed tried to get a little work done on the new formula he was wrestling with, but Johnny's presence; just sitting there and saying nothing, was too distracting. There was too much they still needed to discuss.

Richards was just about to open his mouth to speak when, to his surprise, Johnny got the first word in.

"Thank you... for what you did for Crystal."

Reed hesitated for a moment, more surprised by the existence of the remark than by its nature, but at last, he replied "I had to do everything I could to help. Otherwise, what kind of person would I be?"

Johnny was silent for several more seconds, before he began an explanation.

"When I found out what had happened to Crystal, I wanted to see Iron Man about it... I wanted to be there for her, while she was sick, or whatever it was that happened to her... But then, Doctor Strange explained to me that there wasn't anything my powers could do to stop the particles raging through her system, and I started to realize that sometimes, the hardest thing in the world is to go against your own nature. I would have gotten in the way if I'd been in the lab, but even so, I wanted to be there with her so badly... It's my nature to follow my feelings, Reed. I'm not used to thinking about what's really best. You are."

Reed started to get a little worried when Johnny said all of that, and quickly turned to look at him in suspicion, asking "Why are you bringing this up?"

"Because I know what tonight is for you." Johnny said, "I know it's against your nature to follow your feelings, and I know that if you decide to back out, your feelings won't be the only ones hurt. Sue's crazy about you, Reed. You know that. You have to be brave, and face this."

Reed found the comment complicated, mainly because he wasn't sure whether Johnny knew what Iron Man had said to him earlier. Still, he eventually spoke again, changing the subject in something of an accusing way.

"Why did you join, Johnny?"

"Well..." Johnny muttered, then in a second, his resolve seemed to grow, and he looked Reed right in the eye at last, ready to make his reply, "There's a lot of reasons. I think they're going to need me, and they seem to mainly want to do the right thing. I won't feel too bad being a part of that, even if I'm in danger every day, but I guess the real reason I wanted to join is that I'm hoping to find out a little more about... Well, there's information I want that nobody else seems to have. I think they could help me find it."

That was when Johnny got up, and left the lab without so much as a good-bye. Reed wasn't sure what kind of information Johnny was searching for, but if nothing else, he felt confident that he didn't have to give the Human Torch any more speeches on foolish choices and recklessness. Johnny was becoming a man, and trying to find himself among super-powered equals. It would lead him into danger, but then, nothing about their lives had been safe before.

Reed left the unfinished formula where it was for the night. He was too distracted, and he had a big date to get ready for.

* * *

Almost half of the new Avengers had left by nightfall, to return to their lives and duties, but several had also stayed behind, even after having made a full recovery from the day's attack. The Mole Man was still there, as were Captain America, Hawkeye, Iron Man, Black Bolt and Doctor Strange. Even Widow, who seemed to have been absent during the actual fighting, had been there to participate in the short meeting that had been called between all the available members of the team.

"What happened today proves a number of things to me." Strange said, finally sliding into his elected role as leader, "I've already organized a press conference to explain the existence of the Avengers to the people who noticed today's attack, but there's one more thing I needed to consult you on before I try to explain our group. I want you all to tell me what we should do about assassins and crooks like the kind we fought today."

"I favor a proactive effort against people like that." The Mole Man said quickly, "If we're going to encourage a civilized code of conduct, people like that will just get in the way. They must be dealt with somehow."

"I've already taken proactive measures to discourage the Hand from making any further attempts like that." Widow explained, "Still, there are going to be others like them, who'll need to be dealt with quickly."

"I think we probably ought to wait until they break the law before we start trying to bring them down." Captain America suggested after a moment.

"Whose law?" the Mole Man asked, "Every nation has its own laws. Do we simply honor the laws of the land we happen to be in, even when those laws cause needless misery and suffering? That's not what I joined this team to do. We need not be tyrants, but we are vigilantes. We can't take any action until we embrace that."

Captain America seemed uncomfortable with the idea, as did Doctor Strange. Hawkeye and Widow didn't seem to mind, however, and Iron Man, as always, was just happy to be part of the team.

"There are universal rights and wrongs that we could follow..." Strange said at last, "values that exist on a cosmic level, rather than a human one. However, I'm afraid not all of our members would agree to be bound by them."

"I don't like the idea of opposing any government directly on their own soil." Captain America reiterated, "We have so many world leaders in the Avengers, that we might as well be starting an invasion if we do that. I don't want the Avengers to be conquerors."

"It might be simpler than all of that." Hawkeye said after thinking about it for a few moments, "Can't we obey people's laws, without necessarily agreeing with them? I mean, that's what American freedoms are all about, right? Peaceful assemblies, when you don't agree with a law..."

"On the reverse side of that," the Mole Man said with a grin, picking up the idea, "if there is a criminal, breaking a law that we also disagree with, it seems reasonable that the Avengers should... neglect to oppose him. After all, even our resources have their limits."

"I think that standpoint sounds like a fair compromise." Strange observed, smiling at last, "I'll have to check with the others before I talk to the press about this, but it seems like the Avengers are ready to start working in an offensive capacity."

Captain America felt as if he should have said some words of encouragement, but he was still feeling a little bitter. He wished that Jan and Hank could have been there to see what an amazing thing the Avengers were shaping up to be. He also wished that Thor could have been there as well, to witness the rebirth of the team he'd once been so pleased with...

* * *

On the outskirts of town, in the front yard of a small, but privately-owned house, one week after the new Avengers had held their first meeting, the owner of the house stood outside, looking around, to make certain that no one was watching him. At last, when the dusk faded into evening, and he was certain that there was no one else around, Donald Blake recited the magic words once more...

"To the one who knows courage, to the one who knows battle, to the one who knows might. Ye who strike this hammer upon the ground, if ye be worthy... cross the boundaries of mortal flesh and receive the power of the god of thunder!"

The crash of lightning and thunder was heard throughout the entire city that night, though no storm followed it...

* * *

End


	15. Issue 15: Darkness Rising Part 1

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 15

"Darkness Rising"

Part 1 of 2

* * *

Darrel closed the door as the last of the group of powerful men entered, taking a seat at the table in the room's center. There were over thirty men and three women there, all of them very powerful crime lords in and around New York, and they were getting desperate.

"Three whole rings went down in my territory this week alone." a man named Porter said just a few minutes into the discussion. I lost fifteen men, and thousands of dollars worth of merchandise. The total damage was... Well, it was unacceptable."

The others in the room all seemed to be paying closer attention to Porter by that point. He'd been in the business longer than almost anyone, so it really meant something when he told them, with worry in his voice, "I've never seen things get this bad. There was always a problem with capes ever since the war, but they were like that Daredevil guy; they were never really a huge threat. Now, though, with so many capes all working together, it's like the end of the world..."

For a few seconds, everyone in that room was silent, until one of the younger men said "I wonder if this is what the Red Skull felt like when the Invaders came down on him."

"Oh, yes." came a voice from the other side of the room, "This is exactly what it was like back then, but I wasn't as stupid as you lot. I never let anyone know where I was, I acted through a network of puppet-leaders and generals, and when I did finally reveal my involvement, it was only to let everyone know that I was about to play my final hand."

That was when a wall panel near the other side of the room slid aside, and there was the Red Skull himself, grinning that skeletal grin, as always. Instantly, over two dozen guns were aimed at him from all throughout the room, though it never broke his smile.

"As I said," the Red Skull muttered, "stupid."

At once, gunfire echoed throughout the building, but still the Red Skull's grin didn't fall, nor did his body. Bullets seemed to vanish in flashes of light, before they could get to him, and after about thirty seconds, the crime lords and their bodyguards stopped firing.

"I'm not an idiot, like you." the Red Skull said, "I wouldn't speak to you in person like this, unless I'd taken precautions. None of your weapons will penetrate the shield I have over this section of the wall. Now, if you're all done having your little tantrum, I think it's time you sat down, shut up and listened to me."

"Why should any of us listen to you?" one of the women demanded, "You were one of the highest Nazi commanders during the second world war, and from what I've heard, you've been establishing crime rings of your own recently; even losing them just like us. There's no way we can trust you."

"You don't have to trust me." the Red Skull replied, "However, I thought I'd contact you with this matter, because it seems immensely important. You see, I've discovered a way to nullify the threat; the unfair advantage that the Avengers possess, and I'm a little surprised none of you have thought about it."

"There's no way." Porter replied angrily, "They're too powerful. No number or caliber of guns can kill them."

"Then guns aren't the way to go." the Red Skull replied simply, "Any idiot can see that. I know that capitalism brings about a huge profit, but unfortunately, in my studies of your business world, it seems that it also makes businesspeople a little slow to react to changing situations in the world, and the ability to react to changes is the most important ability to have; the secret to strength beyond that of the common human race. When I served during the war, and when I first came to your time, I established myself quickly, not because of my appearance, or physical power, but because, in the end, I'd mastered the fine art of using whatever or whoever was at hand to gain a greater advantage for myself and my side. There is one way to defeat the Avengers, and that's with the very power that they themselves possess; a power beyond humankind."

There was silence for a few seconds, but it was hardly a stunned silence, as much as a disappointed one.

"We have no means of obtaining such unnatural power." Porter finally said, "Your advice is extremely unhelpful, Skull."

"Pay closer attention to the news, and you may see things a bit differently." the Red Skull replied, "Actually, there are several ways of obtaining the power we need, and I'm right on the verge of gaining that power for myself. I don't suspect any of you would care to surrender your territories to me right now, but I thought I'd give you the option. Mark my words; soon you'll all be working for me."

As soon as he said that, the Red Skull pushed a button on the side of the panel he was standing next to. In a flash, it had spun around, and although the crime lords tore the place apart looking for him, the Red Skull was nowhere to be found.

* * *

"These are pretty incredible." Doctor Strange said as he looked over the photographs that Spider-man had brought to him. All of them were pictures of the crime bosses who'd attended the meeting as they left, "Every last one is in focus. I didn't know you were an experienced photographer."

"Used to be my job." Spider-man replied, smiling under his mask.

"Well, thank you," Strange said, "and thank you for the tip, Widow. We might never have known who these people were if you hadn't found out about the meeting."

Widow just nodded, but that was when a gruff, disguised voice spoke out from the shadows.

"All of those pictures were taken from outside the building."

"Daredevil..." Strange muttered, turning to look at the Avengers' shinobi ally, who, as always, had managed to remain undetected until he was almost on top of them.

"Well, yeah." Spider-man said, "I mean, I'm good, but I couldn't have snuck into the meeting with them."

"True." Daredevil replied, "It's fortunate that I was there as well, and managed to overhear some of what went on."

"What happened?" Strange asked, "Do you mean this wasn't just another meeting between criminals?"

Daredevil looked a bit to one side when he spoke again, however.

"Apparently, the Red Skull managed to survive the accident during the war, just like Captain America did, or else, someone is impersonating him for intimidation purposes. In any case, there was gunfire, and the Red Skull explained that he had a plan for acquiring power similar to ours. He left after that, somehow. Unfortunately, without more information on where the Red Skull is operating, I can't tell you much, but I am sure that he's behind much of the organized crime in the city's southern districts."

"Basically, the Red Skull wants super powers." Spider-man summarized, "No offense, but that's not exactly news."

"Indeed." Daredevil said, "It's quite possible that none of his plans will actually work, but I wanted to bring this information to your attention. He made some mention of the news, claiming that the others should pay closer attention to it, though. To me, that says that something in the news alerted him to a power source that no other crime lord had considered. If that's true, it could mean trouble for everyone. You deserve to know that."

Strange seemed to think about Daredevil's words carefully for a few moments. At last, though, he arrived at a simple realization.

"Without knowing where the Red Skull is operating from, or the identity of some of the people who work with him, we can't really take action against him. We need more information."

"Naturally," Daredevil admitted, "but don't let your guard down. No one was expecting the Hand to attack with such ferocity and power, and we all nearly died because of that oversight. I don't want the Avengers to fail in their mission because of a simple mistake."

Then, Daredevil faded away into the shadows and was gone.

* * *

Norman Osborn sighed, as he tossed the latest stock reports onto his desk, and leaned back in his chair. The news was worse than he'd thought, and from the looks of things, he might need to cut funding to several of the less promising experiments at Oscorp unless he could come up with something to really make the stockholders happy all at once.

Quickly, Osborn locked the reports in his desk drawer, and crossed the room, towards the doorway out, pulling out his cell phone as he did so to call his driver.

"Mark," Osborn said into the phone, "I'm going to need a ride to lab forty-six again."

Despite all his troubles, and all that was riding on his success, it had been a while since Osborn had felt so liberated and alive. Once again, he was going to risk his neck for his company, and it felt like the good old days, all over again...

* * *

In less than half an hour, Osborn had arrived at lab forty-six, and had himself admitted through the security grid, to the place where the final testing was being performed. Otto Octavius was near the lab's center, using four mechanical arms, attached by a metal harness to his back, to fit together a series of superheated plates around the experiment's central power supply; a glowing sphere that seemed to hover in the air under its own power.

"Is the experiment ready, Otto?" Norman asked, smiling as he approached the great scientist.

"Essentially, yes." Otto replied, "However, all of our volunteers seemed to have backed out, once they learned what the job entailed."

When he heard that, Osborn started to frown, however, growing rapidly concerned.

"Why would they do that?" he asked, confused.

"Well, the experiment involves being fitted into a cybernetic network, that adapts to the shape and abilities of the volunteer's body." Octavius replied, looking stern as he did so, "The problems arise when the time comes to balance the suit's energy levels, and link them to those of the body. Someone; in this case me, has to monitor the energy containment device through the entire procedure, and if there's even a slight problem, the energy levels of both the suit, and the volunteer could be thrown into chaos, and they could very easily die from a sustained electric shock. Apparently, some people don't want to take that kind of risk for science."

Osborn looked at the machines sadly for a few moments, but in the end, he knew what he had to do. The platform of the machine he'd funded the creation of seemed almost hypnotic, and unnaturally-attractive. It was probably his last real chance to keep improving, and after all, if the experiment worked, it could make him wealthier, stronger and smarter; all the things he wanted to be.

"Alright." Norman said with a confident smile, "I've made up my mind, Otto. I'm volunteering myself."

Doctor Octavius looked a little surprised, but finally, he just straightened his glasses, and muttered "Alright."

"No attempts to stop me from making a silly mistake?" Osborn asked in some surprise of his own.

"I know better than to try to stop you from doing something you want to do." Octavius replied, "Besides, I want to see this experiment through just as much as you do; perhaps more. Of course, once I start up the machine, there'll be no shutting it down, unless the process completes safely, but you wouldn't volunteer unless you were willing to take that risk. You're no fool."

Osborn just nodded as he climbed up onto the platform in the room's center. He stood in place as large, metal devices clamped down over his feet, to hold them in one spot. For the experiment to work, it was where his feet needed to be. Then, with one of the mechanical arms he'd designed, Octavius reached across the room, and turned up the power.

In less than a minute, an explosion shook all of lab forty-six, and several blocks in that area of New York City began experiencing power outages.

* * *

Osborn had no way of knowing how long he'd been unconscious, but when he woke up, he felt badly disoriented. All around him on the floor lay bits of shattered metal, and other assorted shrapnel left behind by the explosion. It was all that was left of the experiment, but at the very least, Osborn had survived.

It took Norman almost a minute to even think of checking on Octavius, which he hoped was only due to the disorientation. In a few seconds, though, he found the brilliant scientist, buried under a pile of debris, and started trying to dig him out. That was the first time that he noticed the suit.

Norman's body was covered in what looked like a thin, silver mail. In fact, the mail was so fine, that it almost looked like it was liquid. It covered Osborn's arms, legs, and in fact, most of his body, except for his hands and head. It was the cybernetic suit that he'd volunteered to test, and it was working just as he'd imagined; perhaps even better. As Norman reached forward, to try to remove the shrapnel from on top of Octavius, he found, in awe, that it rose up easily in his bare hands. Somehow, the cybernetic outfit he was wearing had not only filled him with energy, but vastly increased his strength and endurance as well, and that was before he noticed that Octavius seemed to be breathing very slowly, each breath seeming to take nearly fifteen seconds. For a moment, that scared Osborn, until he realized what it meant, at which point he smiled.

"I can't believe what's happened." he thought silently, "I'm stronger, faster and tougher, and yet, it all seems so easy to grasp. I never would have imagined I could get used to power like this so easily."

Osborn continued to smile as he unearthed Octavius from the rubble, but his smile faded again, once he saw what had happened to the scientist. Octavius' clothes had been burned off almost completely in the explosion, and the long, mechanical, tentacle-like arms he'd been using in the experiment had fused to his back and sides. Osborn was in for an even bigger surprise when he grabbed Otto by the left hand, and discovered that, though the hand still looked mostly human, touching it produced the cold, sleek feeling of metal. It was as if Otto's entire body had transformed into a synthetic, metal substance, designed to look like human flesh. Osborn was so stunned and amazed that he hesitated in his reaction, when Octavius started awake in a panic, and his tentacles started lashing out all around him.

Those four long, metal tendrils struck nearly everything in sight as Osborn tried to use his greater speed to avoid them. However, it only partially worked, as one of them soon struck him in the side of the head. He knew he needed to shock the scientist back to his senses, so Osborn quickly shouted aloud "Otto, it's me!"

That, apparently, was all that was needed. Otto Octavius' panic diminished, as he slowly got to his feet, sweating all over, and completely nude, but otherwise unharmed. In moments, two of Octavius' tentacles had surrounded him from the waist down, and he looked around in fear and distrust until he saw what had happened to Norman.

"The experiment..." Otto muttered, obviously still struggling to clear his head, "It was a success...?"

"For me, at least," Norman replied, looking at his old friend with some sadness, "though it seems to have brought about some unexpected changes in you."

Octavius felt himself over a little, feeling his arms, legs, and chest, and he had no real difficulty noticing the differences. His whole body felt like a machine, but at least it was a functional machine.

"It seems to have made each of us stronger, in our own way." Octavius noted after a moment, "It might be worth something to the military if we can find a means of duplicating it safely."

"Forget the military. That's not where the real money is anyway."

Norman Osborn felt bewildered and confused. The words had definitely come out of his mouth, and yet, he couldn't really remember intending to speak them. For a moment, it had been as if someone else had decided to take control of his vocal cords. It was puzzling, and it put him in a confusing predicament.

"Sir?" Octavius asked, quite confused himself, "What do you mean? Do you think there's a way to make more money off this power than by selling it as a weapon?"

Norman felt, for a moment, just a little lost and abandoned. He wasn't sure what to say, so in the end, he just admitted the truth.

"I don't know, Otto. I guess I wasn't thinking. Still, let's hold off on selling our secrets for the moment. As you said, we'll need more testing before we can duplicate the process safely anyway."

Otto nodded once before opening a nearby closet, to retrieve a spare lab coat, with which to cover himself. However, just as Osborn neared the doorway out, something else occurred to him, and he turned back to face Octavius, who was probably the closest thing he had to a friend.

"I assume I don't need to bolster your health insurance any further based on this unfortunate fiasco."

"If that's your way of asking me if I intend to file a lawsuit against you, the answer is no." Octavius replied with a strange note of pride in his voice, "I've benefited unintentionally from this experiment, and that's the dream of every scientist. This may even open up new doors to us, both in research and business. You have nothing to fear from me."

Osborn just nodded, not sure what, if anything to say, as he left the lab to return to his car.

* * *

For most of the remainder of the day, Osborn continued to do what was needed for Oscorp, making calls, and setting up meetings and projects, but he was hardly satisfied with the work anymore. Even though the cybernetic device was well-hidden under his ordinary business suit, Osborn still knew that it was there, and as long as he knew that it was there, then it, and the worry of someone else controlling him were going to keep popping into his head. They were, of course, distracting thoughts, and that distraction made the day a very difficult one, in spite of the increased quickness of thought he seemed to have developed. On the whole, he was glad when the workday was over, and he could return to his mansion for a good night's sleep; a rare feeling for Norman Osborn.

Typically, Osborn's life was his work. It wasn't that he felt responsible for his company, or wanted to support the people working for him, though. To Norman Osborn, business was like a competition between mighty fighters, each struggling to reach the top, pushing against and through their own limits until they found themselves rising, by their own will and their own work, into the glory at the top of the corporate ladder. Any number of others fell aside, or were stepped on to reach that pinnacle, but to Osborn, those people didn't matter. They were the ones who'd failed, and if he failed, he also wouldn't matter. It may have been a reason he'd risked his life that afternoon. Somehow, the idea of living as a failure chagrined him. Dying at the pinnacle of his success, though, was an interesting thought, at least. Those were a few of the thoughts that drove Osborn on, in his obsession with success and wealth. It had long since stopped being about his own personal comfort.

However, when Osborn stepped inside his mansion by the front door, he only had just enough time to dodge the hasty punch that was aimed at him from the other side. In just a moment, Norman had used his great strength and speed to grab the fist out of the air, and looked into to eyes of its owner in some confusion. It was his own son Harry.

At first, Norman had no idea what was going on, or why Harry had attacked him like that, with such fury in his face, but that was just because he'd been exhausted, disoriented or distracted for most of the day. When he took some time to think about it, he remembered just what he'd done to deserve his son's enmity.

"Despite the fact that you've spurned very expensive educations at every turn," Norman said, sarcastically, with a grin as he held Harry's wrists in his hands, "I didn't think you were stupid enough to try assaulting me. I mean, you've never finished a single karate class, if I recall correctly. Couldn't stand the structure, right?"

"You stole my things!" Harry exclaimed, fury all over his face.

"No I didn't." Norman replied, still looking amused, "I stole my things. Nothing you have, or have ever used is really yours, Harry. It belongs to me, because I'm the one who paid for it. I guess you never realized what a dangerous position that was until now."

As Norman had been speaking, Harry's arms and fists had gone limp in resignation. His father had been a better fighter than him, even before the accident that Harry still hadn't heard about, which meant that there was no point in trying to fight him anymore. Norman Osborn was stronger, smarter, more skilled, and far richer. Harry felt furious and distressed by the sheer unfairness of his situation. There was nothing he could do to defend himself from his father.

"You just wanted revenge, didn't you?" Harry spat out as Norman let him go, "You wanted to punish me for turning my back on the family business."

"Don't be silly, Harry." Norman replied, still without any trace of a frown, "You couldn't have prevented me from doing this, even if you'd gone through with the education I proposed for you. I had this date marked on my calendar almost fifteen years ago." Norman continued, not even frowning as he spoke, "I said to myself; 'that's the day when I'm going to take back all the gifts I've given, and if my son's learned to stop freeloading, maybe he'll be able to remain standing when that day comes. Unfortunately, you never saw it coming, you never took the opportunities I offered you, and you never made any real money to support yourself with, just in case. I'm surprised, Harry. You knew you couldn't trust me. Why'd you have to keep pretending that you could?"

Then, with that parting shot, Norman Osborn began the trek upstairs to his room, and less than a minute after he was out of sight, Harry stormed out of the mansion, leaving behind the empty, bare-floored room that had once been his.

* * *

"Oh, that was brilliant! I loved the look on his face!"

The voice had emerged from nowhere the moment that Norman had closed the door to his room, or rather, it had emerged from him, and yet, he hadn't intended to say anything like that. Once again, someone other than himself was speaking through his mouth, and at last, he was alone, and able to take what time he needed to discover the truth.

"How did you do that?" Norman demanded, "Who are you?"

"Who do you think I am?" the voice replied.

"If I knew, I wouldn't ask!" Osborn exclaimed furiously, "I don't waste words."

"Nor do I." the being replied, "It's why I remained silent while you were working, but this afternoon, I had to interfere, because you were about to give away the greatest power you've ever had!"

"I never give anything away." Osborn insisted.

"Sometimes, selling power can be just as foolish as offering it for free." the voice explained, "Believe me, there's nothing that real power should be traded for; not even money. When one has power, money can take care of itself."

"I'm not going to talk business with you unless I know who, and what you are." Osborn exclaimed, growing even more furious every second, "Explain yourself!"

"Alright, Osborn." the voice replied, "Take a good look in the mirror, and you'll see who I really am."

Slowly, hesitantly, Norman Osborn inched towards the mirror, but what he saw in its depths made him cringe, and dart back in shock and horror. It was the face of a bright green creature, with long, pointed ears, a large, hooked nose, and a wicked, evil grin, and it was staring at him. Osborn collapsed backwards onto the floor, knocking over a nearby chair in the process, and hitting his head as the voice began to laugh; a laugh which turned into a loud, sustained cackle, that echoed through the room. By the time Osborn was back on his feet, the face in the mirror had grown more solid-looking than ever, though the laughter had stopped.

"You... you're like some monster... some kind of green goblin..." Norman muttered as he stared at the being that had so recently been speaking through his own mouth.

"Sticks and stones, Osborn." the Goblin replied, "You created me, after all. When you decided to risk your life for the continuing progress of your company, you beckoned me into your very soul. However, I don't think you'll notice much difference. You see, you and I are very much alike; each entrepreneurs searching for an edge; a means of climbing our respective ladders. While you seek further corporate progress and riches, I'm in search of greater physical power, and as luck would have it, I know of a way for both of us to get our wish."

For several seconds, Osborn was silent, too worried to speak, but he wasn't a superstitious man. All that mattered was whether or not the Green Goblin could get him what he wanted. After only fifteen seconds had passed, Osborn asked "How?"

"Well, it's really very simple once you consider your current position, Osborn." the Goblin replied with the same wicked smile as always, "Strength, speed, endurance, agility, intelligence, quick-witted thinking, and so forth. In virtually every area, you exceed all normal human beings. Is it really so difficult to imagine such a powerful person obtaining more power for themselves?"

That was when Norman Osborn realized what the Goblin was describing.

"Weapons." Osborn noted aloud.

"To start with." the Goblin replied, "Personal weapons, and a disguise under which to use them will both increase your power. Perhaps something terrifying... Fear can be a powerful motivator, you know, but there is one thing that's even more powerful in motivating others to do your bidding."

"Money." Osborn deduced.

"Right." the Goblin replied, "You have the intelligence to build the weapons that you need, and now, you will have the guidance as well. When those weapons have been designed, I'll give you the names of a few people you might want to seek out."

"Do you mean that I should form alliances?" Osborn asked, a little confused on that point.

"Or pretend to." the Goblin replied, "So long as you end up pulling the strings of other powerful people, it doesn't really matter if you have partners yet. They can be dealt with later. Just think about it, Osborn. With your wealth, power and brilliance, think of all the mighty you'll gather in your employ. In time, you could become the most powerful person on this Earth!"

"No." Osborn replied sadly, "The most powerful person on Earth is Doctor Strange."

"You mean the leader of these so-called 'Avengers.'" the Goblin replied with a sneer, "Let me tell you something, Osborn. There have been idealists, and civic-minded fools in the past; people who wanted to heal the world, instead of controlling it, but they always failed. Do you know why? It was because, in the end, as much as people wanted to fix the world, what they wanted even more was to be rich, powerful, and in control. Idealism and concern for public wellbeing may motivate the small group known as the Avengers, but several times as many will respond to a simple paycheck. If you use the greed of other men to tempt them into your service, you will become more powerful than the Avengers themselves."

Then, the Goblin began to cackle again, and that time, even Osborn felt that the laughter had its purpose. It was possible that he did indeed have the power to become so great. The struggle to rise to the top had suddenly been moved into an entirely new arena, and Norman Osborn felt happy once again. His reason for living had re-emerged, and he had a battle to fight, and a new frontier to conquer.

* * *

Max was feeling pretty worried. He'd never been asked to go into sector five of the power plant before. Hardly anyone worked down there. Only a few experts had been seen to enter and leave that section, and for some reason, it had taken the higher-ups a while to realize that he was the most skilled electronics expert in the building, because it was only recently that he'd been told he'd be working in sector five.

Francis Dabrowski, his previous floor manager, had lead Max down into sector five, inputting his retinal information into the scanner that blocked unauthorized access to the sector, and allowing Max Dillon to enter through the first door. Once there, he'd been told that in order to proceed any further, he needed to sign a nondisclosure agreement, saying that if he revealed what he saw in there to unauthorized personnel, he would owe a substantial fine, and restitution for damages, as well as possible jail time. It wasn't the first time he'd signed such a form, but it did make him feel a little edgier, as Francis put his thumb print information into the second door's scanner, and led him into the room beyond.

"So this is it, Frank?" Max asked, looking around in amazement, "This is what all the security's about? More military weapons?"

"That's the word." Francis replied with a brief nod, "We needed your help on a little something over here. Sensitive electric weapon of some kind. I don't understand half of it."

"Electrical weapon?" Max asked, suddenly interested, "What kind?"

"Not sure." Francis replied, "It's over here, by the vials. Some kind of short-range weapon, from the looks of it."

When Francis mentioned the vials, however, they drew Max's attention, and he was amazed to recognize the names of the chemicals inside. They were new kinds of steroid compounds of questionable legal status, which meant that they couldn't be illegal, because the government didn't know they existed yet. Word of their existence had been a well-kept secret of Oscorp for the past three weeks, which was when Max had first learned of them, but he was still surprised to see them there. However, the machine in the middle of the room was even more surprising.

It was a mechanical hand, made of a well-insulated substance, wearing a thick, black glove. The glove seemed to be made from a network of conductive fibers, woven directly on top of insulation, as if the entire thing were intended to absorb electric charges, and protect the glove's wearer from them.

"It's brilliant." Max muttered in amazement, "Totally insulated against electric power. You could block a lightning bolt with this."

"Yeah..." Francis said, "But I guess the idea was to make one, or something. There's a tiny electric generator woven into the outer fabric of the glove, with a trigger on the palm. The palm trigger ought to charge the glove with electricity, whenever the glove squeezes into a fist, but... well, it doesn't work."

"A generator?" Max asked, amazed, "You can't mean the..."

However, in just a second, Max had peered into the conductive fabric, and seen the letters "XC20" engraved into the metal device under the sturdy weave.

"I don't believe it." Max exclaimed, stunned, "XC20. I though the XC series only went as high as six. With a generator that powerful, you could kill a man with an electric shock using just one punch. At least, if they didn't have a gun, you could."

"Sure, if it works." Francis replied with a shrug, "It's just, right now, it doesn't work."

"It's all so complex..." Max muttered, "Still, it ought to be working right now, from what I can see, unless. Aha! Here's the problem."

In a flash, Max had whipped out a tiny, metal, hook-shaped tool from his belt, and dug into the side of the glove with it, carefully fitting the wires into place, and reinforcing them with a small, gun-shaped apparatus.

"Well, it's not heavy-duty, but it ought to work now." Max said with a grin, as he stepped back away from the glove, "Let's turn up the power and see what happens."

Francis nodded and pushed a button near the base of the device, causing the mechanical hand to fold inward, until it looked like it was pointing at something. No obvious change was visible on the surface of the glove, but the instruments registered that a great deal of electricity was traveling back and forth through the weapon with one of the highest amp ratings that Max had ever seen. That was saying something. Before he'd seen that weapon, Max had thought he knew his way around electricity back and forth.

So the weapon was a success, and Max would undoubtedly get the pay he'd earned, and that might have been all there was to it, except that just as Francis was turning off the machine with a pleased smile, the whole room shook violently. Neither Francis, nor Max had any way of knowing what the violent shaking signified, but they saw its results. In a flash, the glove had slid forth from the hand it had been placed on, and landed on the floor, still in the pointing position. A powerful electric current traveled through the floor, giving both Francis and Max the electric shock of their lives. Francis was thrown, in burning agony, back against the opposite wall of the room by the shock, and Max fell backwards, as the shocks filled his body, into the rack of vials, breaking several jars and bottles, and getting shards of glass embedded in his skin at numerous points.

As Max lost consciousness, with charged, experimental steroids traveling into his bloodstream randomly, he saw that Frank's pulse had stopped. It was, he realized, only a matter of time before he died too.

However, although the sharp shards of glass that penetrated his skin continued to hurt for a while, as he lay on the floor, soaked in chemicals, and continually being shocked, he quickly began to realize that the continual shock of electricity was starting to lose its kick. In just a short time, he'd found the strength to get back to his feet, amazed and fascinated as he stared at his hands. He could feel massive energy traveling through his body, and quickly pulled out one of the glass shards embedded in his wrist. Instead of blood, his action unearthed a short eruption of some silvery fluid, and suddenly, his wound was gone.

Max continued to remove the pieces of glass from his flesh, and the instant he did, there would be another short burst of silver liquid, then suddenly, that section of his body would feel just fine. By the time Max had managed to dig all the glass out of his flesh, he was quite convinced that he was at least partially dead, because his flesh was extremely pale all over. The only thing that offset that extremely pale color was his reddish-brown hair, but he still looked very much dead, as he stepped across the room and picked up the glove, feeling its charge increase harmlessly against his skin, as he put it back where it belonged. Maxwell Dillon was amazed that he'd suddenly become so resistant to electric shocks, and that was before he decided to run back outside, and get someone to try to help Francis.

Quickly, Max left sector five at a rapid pace, not even noticing how his feet seemed to dart along the floor without touching it, as he emerged into the main section of his workplace. At once, everyone nearby noticed how pale he'd become, and several rushed forward, to see if they could help him in any way, but the first person who tried to touch him on the back jerked backwards in pain and... well, in shock. It was only then that Max Dillon realized what was really going on.

Somehow, the chemicals entering his body with all of that electricity had changed him. Where once he'd simply been good with electricity, he'd suddenly become a human sponge for it, able to absorb and channel electricity in ways no human being ever had before.

People backed away in fear, as Max began to experiment with his abilities, trying to find some means of controlling them, and in literally seconds, tiny balls of contained electricity were encircling his head, as he smiled. Whether he knew it or not, that was the moment when Maxwell Dillon would decide upon his future; his destiny. Had he rushed back into sector five, attempting to use his powers to shock Francis back to consciousness, he might, despite everything, have been viewed as compassionate and generous, even if he'd failed to save the life of his former friend. However, Max Dillon chose not to take that path, or do the heroic thing. When he realized the sheer magnitude of the power he possessed, he thought to himself "I'm going to be filthy rich. No more struggling with the bills."

Then he felt charges of electricity forming under his feet, and in seconds, he was shooting through the air, towards the main office of his own employer; Norman Osborn.

* * *

Osborn grinned as he heard the sound of something large hitting the window of his office and bouncing off. Quickly putting down the contract he'd been going over, he turned to see, to his delight, a pale-skinned metahuman hovering, dazed, outside his window, seemingly supported by a bolt of lightning from underneath. Osborn continued to smile as he pushed a switch on his desk, causing the window to slide open.

"Something I can do for you, Mister..." Osborn began, but soon, glowing currents of electricity were encircling him as he sat there. Still, despite his predicament, Osborn didn't stop smiling, and in fact, looked more pleased than ever.

"Now then." Osborn continued, "I'm sure we can discuss this like reasonable gentlemen. Just tell me what you want, and I'll see if I can't accommodate you."

"You don't seem scared, Osborn." the pale man noted as he floated in through the open window.

"If you want what I think you do, I have no reason to worry at all." Osborn replied, "After all, the thought doesn't make me happy, but if you kill me, all my wealth will probably go to my son, who's sure to use at least part of it to hunt down his father's murderer."

"The guys where I used to work always said you were a smart guy." the pale man said, "I guess they were right. Yeah. I want money, alright. Not just money, though. Lots of money. Enough so I never have to worry about the bills again."

"Naturally." Osborn replied, continuing to grin, "You must be capable of fantastic feats, and so you deserve a fantastic payment, in exchange for a few simple errands."

"No tricks, Osborn." the pale man warned, the electric charges around Osborn's chair dissipating, "Before today, I spent years working for you, and I barely earned enough to get by."

"True." Osborn replied, "Those with little power will earn little money from me, but... well... How does one hundred thousand dollars sound, just to start with?"

"You're... You're kidding..." the pale man exclaimed, "A hundred grand? Just for one job?"

"What?" Osborn asked, confused, "Are you trying to tell me that power like yours isn't worth that kind of money? Please don't. Few people know the value of a dollar like I do."

"Deal! Deal!" the pale man exclaimed, electric charges dancing through his eyes in joy, as he landed on the floor at last, "So what do I have to do?"

"Well, I'll need to know your name, first off. It's a formality, just so that I know where to send your pay."

"Maxwell Dillon." the pale man said after only a few seconds, "It's a good enough name to put on checks, but in person, you can just call me Electro. Now, what kind of job am I supposed to be doing, exactly?"

"Well, that's just it, Electro." Osborn replied, his smile fading slightly, "You see, it's not just you. There are going to be others. You're going to be part of a team, serving under a field commander named the Green Goblin. The mission won't take place for a couple of weeks yet, but in the meantime, half of your pay will be direct-deposited into your account to hold you over until then."

"I just get fifty grand right off the bat, just like that?" Electro asked in amazement.

"Well, yes, but I want you to do one minor thing for me first, just before I set that up." Osborn said, still smiling, "See that video camera up there?"

Electro nodded with a smile as Osborn pointed the camera out. It was a small video surveillance camera, that seemed to be monitoring large sections of Osborn's office. It was fitted into an electronic motion-detecting mechanism, that moved the camera automatically, to face whatever moving object or person was in the room. Before his transformation into Electro, it had been one of Max's most frequent jobs to repair and assemble cameras just like that one.

"Of course, it's possible that even you don't yet know the full extent of your own powers, since you claim to have only acquired them today." Osborn said, "Still, this is a good opportunity to test some of your abilities out. Let's find out if you can make that camera move to the left, away from the people it's intended to monitor."

It was an interesting challenge; changing the direction and motion of electric currents while they were still inside machines. By the laws of everything that Max had known about electricity, it shouldn't have been possible, but then, it was just as impossible for electricity to hover in mid-air, or carry a passenger. Maybe, he realized, he really could do anything with a strong enough charge.

Reaching out towards the camera, Electro willed it to turn to the left, and felt the currents travel through the silicon circuits controlling it, in directions other than the ones they were programmed to. In moments, the camera had shifted to the left, away from Norman and Electro, and it was difficult to determine which of the two was more elated by that newly-discovered power.

"Yes, that's very good." Norman said, "I can almost guarantee you regular work, if you don't mind following orders and... Well, I was about to ask you if you had any moral scruples, but I think your actions in charging up here and threatening to kill me prove that isn't an obstacle."

Electro just smiled in reply to that. It was going to be a very profitable relationship.

* * *

Flint Marko was running in a panic. He'd been a crook for most of his life. Thanks to his delicate temper, it was the only kind of work that he wouldn't have gotten fired from, and when he'd been picked up to work as a bag man for the mob, things had started going wrong. He'd just had the job of working as part of a team, to steal items important to his gang, or otherwise costly or expensive. It was simple enough work, and hardly anybody ever needed to really get hurt. However, there seemed to be a lot of discontent and rivalry, even in the most organized of crimes. When Flint and his team had returned to their base of operations for the week, they'd found the dead body of their boss; Ray Deering, and three of his boys. They'd all been shot right through the chest at least five times each.

Of course, without Ray, no one knew what the item that Flint's group had stolen was intended to be used for, or if it was meant to be sold, much less which fences would buy expensive Fabergé eggs. However, Flint's situation was even worse than that, because a moment later, three more of Ray's boys had stepped into the room through another door. They'd seen the bodies, and Flint's team standing over them in worry, and they started firing. As far as he could tell, Flint Marko was the only one who'd escaped.

He'd run through the city streets, the urban areas outside of the city, all the way to the beaches on the outskirts of New York, hoping and hoping that he could somehow get away, and yet, entirely aware that no matter where he ran, he couldn't rejoin society any more, or he'd be found. He was a criminal, and a fugitive from the criminal world. He had no place to turn.

Flint had continued to run, past a sign that had fallen over in the strong winds of the beach-side area he was in, and he took no time to read it as he charged on and on, trying his best to keep out of sight, in the shadow of the nearby cliffs. As he ran, however, he started to feel a strong, powerful warmth from above himself, and looked upward to see, to his horror, a bright light descending upon him. He tried to flee from the light, but it was too large to escape. In seconds, the man who had been the unfortunate Flint Marko was no more.

* * *

The Red Skull grinned hideously as he looked up and down the beach. The rumors that had circulated through the population recently of the strange monster on that beach had been tantalizing ones, and he was determined to meet that monster firsthand.

It had been a long time, since he'd done something as simple and relaxing as taking a walk down a beach. It didn't really relax him, though. In fact, if not for the fact that he had higher objectives, he might have felt as though he were being unforgivably lazy. On that note, he was quite pleased when, only five minutes into his walk, a man seemed to rise up out of the sand at his feet, and yet, he wasn't like an ordinary man. He looked as if he were either covered in, or else made completely of sand. The Red Skull was amazed and delighted by the sight.

"Whoa..." the Sandman muttered, "What are you?"

"I could ask you the same question." the Red Skull responded with a grin, "I'm impressed by the way you appeared like that. It would make you ideal for expensive spy work."

"Oh, I can do a lot more than that." the Sandman replied, "Wait, are you trying to hire me?"

"Why not?" the Red Skull asked, "You seem like a reasonable man, with intelligence and desire. Besides, I'll be needing the talents of someone like yourself. I already have many others who've agreed to work for me, but in this kind of endeavor, one can never have too many men on one's side."

The Sandman had to think about it for a few seconds, but at last he said, "Alright. If the money's good, I'll play your game."

Then, the Sandman transformed before the Red Skull's very eyes, shrinking and changing color, until he looked almost exactly like an ordinary man, and without any further words, the two left that beach together. It wasn't the final step in the plan, but it was a deal that would make them each far more powerful.

* * *

At last, the night came when Norman Osborn's many weapons and pieces of equipment had been finished, and stored separately in a concealed room, just east of his office. The last of his work for the night finished, Osborn opened the hidden doorway in the wall, and slipped inside. The video cameras in his office never caught sight of the doorway, just as he'd planned. To them, it would seem as if he were there one moment, and missing the next, though he'd have to rework his security department when he got the chance. Osborn no longer feared any man.

Once inside the secret room, Osborn looked around to make sure that everything was there. The sonic vibrational device attached to the belt, the shoulder bag, containing a variety of weapons, the glider that would enable flight through the air, the gloves that generated a powerful electric shock along their surface... Everything was in place. All he needed to do was wish for the game to begin, and it would.

In a flash, Osborn's thoughts traveled outward, into the micro-nodes that made up his cybernetic suit. No matter where he was, or what he was doing, each of those nodes would remember its intended place on his body, and he'd removed them all, weaving them into the fabric of his costume. With a thought, the nodes could be removed, and with a thought, they could rise up, to take their places on his body, which meant that Norman Osborn's outfit would put itself on him, and all he had to do was think about it.

So he thought about it.

The micro-nodes reacted at once, lifting up the various items and weapons that Osborn had designed for that purpose, and in less than five seconds, his entire appearance had changed. His body was covered in bulletproof mail, which was, in turn, covered in a dark cloth tunic, belted at the waist. He had magnetized boots, and electric gloves, both painted black, and wore a thin hat over the back of his head, which was also covered by a thick mask, bearing the face that Osborn had seen in the mirror; the face of the green goblin.

In front of him floated a brilliant device, that looked a little like a metal bat, with a jet in back, and several, smaller jets on the sides and bottom, most of which used pure force to work, rather than heat. It was his glider; something of a misnomer, since the machine was utterly incapable of gliding. No, it was something even better. It was one of the smallest, most maneuverable flying machines that had ever been invented.

That was when Norman Osborn took a back seat in his own conscious thoughts, and the Green Goblin himself took over, leaping onto the glider, and exiting the building through a large vent, designed for that purpose. In a flash, the goblin was flying out over the city, to a previously-arranged meeting location, a mad cackle echoing in the night.

* * *

The plan had been set in motion quickly, once Osborn had learned of the ambitions of the Red Skull, and the steps he'd taken to secure the help of superhuman beings in his struggle for power over New York's diminishing underworld. Of course, Osborn wanted to get the Red Skull on his team again, but what was really important were the other superhumans he'd acquired the assistance of. Norman Osborn didn't like having competitors, and his goal of cornering the market on super-powered muscle couldn't be accomplished as long as there were others who were trying to do the same thing. Of course, the other thing that Osborn knew he'd need to deal with were the Avengers. They were a big threat, and had to be dispatched. Fortunately, however, he'd devised a clever plan for killing two birds with one stone, and it was guaranteed to work in his favor, unless the Red Skull was a stubborn fool. Of course, Osborn thought, if he was a stubborn fool, then he'd just have to die.

The Goblin could see that all of his associates were present at the designated meeting point when he arrived. Electro and Doctor Octavius were both there, the latter of whom had taken to calling himself Doctor Octopus while on the job. Both were disguised by full facial masks, not that either of them could have been easily mistaken for an ordinary human otherwise. Also present were two others under his employ. Each was a mere human, but experienced in the use of technology for unusual feats. The first of those two; a man named Herman Schultz, was an expert on aerial vibrations, and turning them into weapons. It was to his research that the Goblin owed the vibrational disruptor device on his belt. Schultz was in disguise, like the others, in a well-padded suit, colored deep brown, and intended to both insulate him against electric and vibrational shocks, and protect him from harm. In disguise, he went by the code name of Shocker. The last of those present was named Quentin Beck. He was one of the world's greatest experts on using technology to create illusions, traps and special effects. His greatest triumph had been the holographic projector he wore on his own belt, which could make realistic, three-dimensional images of whatever he wanted. Beck was a genius in his own way, and dressed in a deep, green outfit, with a long cloak and a concealing orb over his head, resembling a crystal ball. In the field, he preferred to be called Mysterio. The group of five powerful figures met outside of a large factory building near the south edge of Manhattan. It was a relatively remote location of the city, insofar as any area of Manhattan Island can be considered remote, and it was late enough that no one else would be at the factory until morning. In a single, swift motion, Octavius used his tentacles to tear the hinges off the factory's door, sliding it to one side, and was the first to enter the building just in case, being the only one there who was naturally bulletproof.

Sure enough, Octavius had only needed to look around for a moment, before he spotted the Red Skull. The former Nazi military commander looked calm and satisfied, as the Green Goblin drifted closer to him through the air, flanked by Electro and Doctor Octopus. The other two brought up the rear.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me about this." the Green Goblin said, "I'll be brief. I've heard that you're gathering superhumans for one reason or another. Now, I've been doing the same thing for a short while, trying to draw the attention of those precious few who deserve to work alongside the likes of us. Now that these so-called 'superheroes' are starting to work together, it's becoming even more important for the rest of us to respond in kind. You must know that, or you wouldn't be seeking out the powerful."

The Red Skull nodded, but still didn't speak.

"Of course, as a man of business, I've never been one for fair competition." the Goblin said with a wicked smile, "So I've decided to take control of those you've gathered. You, of course, are welcome to be a part of our little organization as well, but I suspect you'll need to work fairly hard to keep up. What do you say, Red Skull?"

The Red Skull looked away for a moment, then back at the Goblin. At last, he said, "That was stupid. I thought you'd be different than the others."

In a flash, larger figures surrounded the Red Skull. Green Goblin recognized them from the information his people had gathered. To his left had appeared a seven-foot, six-inch man in green armor, with a long tail that lashed around behind him. The tail bore a spike-like sting on it, that looked like it might easily have functioned as a gun of some kind. He was the Scorpion. To the Red Skull's right was another man; six-foot-five, with huge, bulging muscles, dressed in a thick, gray outfit, with a horn on his head. He'd been a criminal enforcer for years, and people called him the Rhino. Behind them was a relative newcomer to the game; the Sandman. He was a man, who, apparently, could transform his entire body into sand, and even perform minor miracles if there was sand nearby for him to work with. The full extent of his powers weren't known, which made him a tantalizing prize for the Goblin. Flying over the heads of the group was an older man, wearing a mechanical, flying device. Green Goblin was surprised to see him there, since he was mostly known as a cat burglar with an unusual mode of operation. He was the flying robber known as the Vulture.

"It seems we have something of a stalemate." the Red Skull said with a smile, "Will you master my forces, or will my forces be your master?"

"No." the Green Goblin replied, "There's no stalemate here, and in a moment, you're going to find out why."

That was when the Goblin turned to Electro, giving him a short nod. Just as it had been planned out in advance, Electro snapped his fingers, and suddenly, every light bulb in the factory began to shine as bright as the sun. Nearly everyone in the factory had to cover their eyes, to keep from being blinded by the radiance.

"Blast you!" the Red Skull exclaimed, his smile finally fading, as he realized that the situation was no longer under his control, "You fool! Someone might have seen that!"

"Oh, yes." the Goblin replied, still grinning, "Someone saw it. In fact, they're still seeing it. The lights in the outer rooms of this factory are continuing to flash, and not only that, every building for ten blocks has just lost power. How long do you suppose it'll be before the Avengers descend on this building?"

"Given what I know about them already..." the Skull replied with a note of dread in his voice, "moments."

"Then I'd say we have very little choice but to come to some sort of agreement." the Goblin said, still smiling, "You still have the chance to fall at my feet."

"Even if I were in danger of death," the Red Skull said furiously, "I wouldn't consent to working under someone like you; not ever again, for any reason."

The Goblin just shrugged, as he waited for the Skull's stubbornness to give out, but sure enough, as seconds ticked by, the Skull was true to his word. He had no intention of giving in, which was bad news for them all. Unless they came to some kind of agreement, and were able to work together in some way, they'd all be defeated by the Avengers.

"Blast you and your foolish stubbornness, Red Skull." Osborn thought silently, under the mask of the Green Goblin, "I won't lose this battle of wills, but I won't lose the real battle either."

It was a harsh reality for someone like Norman Osborn to have to face, but he needed to make a compromise.

"In that case, I have one last offer." Osborn said, "A temporary partnership; you and I working together against the Avengers. If you're so desperate not to serve, you must be eager for such a generous offer."

"Hardly," the Red Skull replied, "but since you've forced the issue, I have little choice anymore. Very well then. We'll fight beside you for the moment."

However, if they'd known the situation that they were really in, it's possible that neither the Goblin nor the Skull would have been in such a hurry to join forces.

Indeed, the Avengers had dispatched a team to the location of the disturbance. The team had consisted of Black Bolt, Crystal, Miss Marvel, Captain America, and Spider-man, who'd been patrolling near that area anyway. It was a relatively small group of heroes, considering what they were about to face.

* * *

To help them keep up with the others, Captain America and a number of the other Avengers had been provided with small, flying machines by Tony Stark. Since both Black Bolt and Miss Marvel could fly, however, it had been decided that Crystal and Captain America would both ride on the same flier, which worked out pretty well for them, since Captain America had been wanting to talk to Crystal ever since the operation.

"I wanted to say that I admire your courage, Crystal."

As soon as she heard those words, Crystal felt a deep terror sweeping all through her, though she tried to hide it.

"What? What courage? What do you mean?"

"I just mean" Captain America replied, "that you recovered extremely well from the operation. Most people would be worried. I mean, no one's ever had an operation quite like the one you had, and a lot of folks would let that fluster them. You did a good job keeping your head on straight, and I'm proud to be serving with you."

"Oh." Crystal replied, feeling relieved, "Thank you... Actually, I guess I should have been afraid, but... Well, this is all so new to me... Not just the dangers of being an Avenger, and not just the operation, but everything about your people, and the way that they live. I hail from a different kind of society, where we didn't have things like... Well, like stuffed bears, television and Pym Particles. Lots of the things you've done with your technology have never been done by my people, despite our own considerable advances. Hamburgers, for example..."

"I've been all over the world, and every single land I ever visited did things a little differently." Captain America replied quickly, "I think I understand what you mean. Adapting to a new kind of lifestyle is never quick or easy, and I can see how that kind of difficulty could overshadow your worries about the operation. I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't even have brought it up. It is a little personal, I guess."

"No. that's alright." Crystal replied as they landed near the building where the bright lights continued to flash from inside. It might just turn out to be a busted distributer or something, but it was enough of a mystery to warrant investigation.

Of course, it became obvious that the mystery actually was an emergency when Miss Marvel saw that the door to the factory building had been broken open. When the others arrived, she made sure to point it out.

"I should probably go in first." Miss Marvel said, "I can take most kinds of attacks pretty easily, and if I go in first, and there's some real danger inside, you'll have the best chance to retaliate."

"Black Bolt disagrees." Crystal said. Doctor Strange was otherwise occupied that night, which meant that she had to be the one to translated for the inhuman king.

"About what?" Miss Marvel asked, not upset or irritated; just confused, "I mean, I don't think he can take as much damage as I can, and..."

"But you're not completely invulnerable." Crystal replied, "No one here is. If they hit you with something, and you go down, we'll have some webbing, an invulnerable shield, and maybe a few flames to attack with. However, if Black Bolt is the one hit by that attack, your speed will afford us a greater chance to react. Besides which, you're a great deal smaller than he is, and so less useful as a human shield, unless you can see what you're trying to protect people against."

Captain America had been listening while both plans had been described, and after thinking about it for a few seconds, he made his decision.

"I think I prefer the sound of Black Bolt's plan, except for one thing. Charging into a nest that might well be full of enemies is tactically-unsound. Miss Marvel, I'd like you to scout for other entrances to the building."

In response, Miss Marvel seemed almost to vibrate in place, but in fact, in that split second, she'd dashed around the entire building, and gotten the information that was needed.

"There are three other entrances aside from this one." Miss Marvel said quickly, "Why?"

"You're the only one fast enough to pull this off." Captain America explained, "Here's what I want you to do..."

* * *

Black Bolt dashed right through the entryway, and immediately saw the massive threat that he was in for. Inside, there were ten figures, a few of whom he recognized, but most of whom he didn't. Each and every one was dressed in an abnormal outfit, and most of them were carrying unorthodox weapons. Black Bolt could tell that he had a fight on his hands.

The first to attack was by the Shocker, who fired a powerful vibration wave at Black Bolt, but with a single quiver of the tuning fork on his head, the wave dissipated, and Black Bolt finished off his first enemy with one blow to his well-padded head.

However, the inhuman king discovered too late that the first attack was a mere distraction. In seconds, the Green Goblin was traveling towards him, flying upward with a sharp cackle. Black Bolt tried to react, by punching his new opponent, but the Green Goblin was simply too fast and agile, ducking out of the way of the mighty vibrational punch, and grabbing his wrist from the side. In seconds, ten thousand volts of electricity, at an enormous amp rating surged through the body of the mightiest king who'd ever lived, and he was unconscious in the maniac's hands.

There wasn't much time for the Goblin to draw any further plans after that, however, because in only a moment, a blur of motion sped into the room from a different direction, colliding hard with the Vulture, and knocking him from the air with a crash. The Sandman tried to react by transforming into sand, stretching out his body over the fast-moving figure, but although he succeeded in snaring the speedy avenger, he could tell that her strength was greater than his by much too wide a margin.

"Rhino!" the Sandman exclaimed, "Help!"

However, as the Rhino moved forward, to attack the sand-covered figure, that figure began rising upward, spinning rapidly as it went, until the Sandman felt his body crumbling into a million pieces, and those small parts of himself that remained on Miss Marvel's body had flown like bullets into the surrounding walls, assailing everyone nearby. Most of the closest super beings were tough, or well-armored enough to take the punishment, but the Red Skull had to hide behind the Rhino, to avoid being killed by the flying shards of sand, and when Miss Marvel drifted back to the ground, she didn't look the least bit worried.

"I guess I'm not exactly famous yet..." she said, "but my name's Miss Marvel, and maybe you'd all better just surrender."

The remaining opponents were all becoming furious as they glared at her, with the exception of the Green Goblin himself. There was, however, some worry in his thoughts. Out of all the Avengers, Black Bolt had been able to do the most damage, but it was Miss Marvel that he considered the most formidable, because of her speed, strength and abnormally high endurance. To beat her would, he realized, require their combined efforts, and before he could afford to devote that kind of attention to her, he needed to be certain that there were no other Avengers to distract his forces.

"Octopus, Rhino, Scorpion, stop her!" the Goblin exclaimed, "Mysterio, keep your eye on the entryway. Alert me if any others appear. Vulture, try to wake Shocker. Electro, I need you to charge the moment you see even one more Avenger step through that door."

However, Electro had seen the way that the Goblin's electric glove had downed Black Bolt so quickly, and started to wonder if maybe his powers were the greatest of all. As Doctor Octopus and the Scorpion struggled to grab Miss Marvel from behind, Electro turned and fired a bolt of charged electricity directly into the most vulnerable-looking section of her stomach.

Octopus and Scorpion screamed, and were thrown back by the powerful electric shock that traveled through Miss Marvel's body at that moment, giving her the opportunity to slug the Rhino in the face, knocking him clear across the room, though it didn't take him long to get back up.

"Idiot!" the Goblin screamed at Electro, as he pulled a bomb in the shape of a small pumpkin from the pouch that hung over his shoulder, "Do as I say!"

Sure enough, Miss Marvel had taken the full force of Electro's attack, and yet, she'd registered no obvious pain at all, and showed no clear sign of having suffered an electric shock either. Obviously, she had resistances that Black Bolt lacked.

However, as Electro struggled to recover from the humbling mistake he'd made, he felt a strong, sticky substance grabbing him from behind, by the arms.

Despite all the amazing powers that Electro possessed, he didn't possess superhuman strength, and in a flash, the powerful muscles of the amazing Spider-man had yanked him to the ground by the lines of webbing that had ensnared Electro's hands, as Captain America and Crystal charged into the factory from right behind him.

"Now, now sparky." Spider-man said, in a distressingly-jovial manner, "I think you can afford to sit this one out, until we find you a nice, insulated cell to taaaaeEEEOWCH!"

Furious with Spider-man's attitude, and totally unwilling to surrender the highest-paying job he'd ever had, Electro had increased the charge around his body, sending a massive jolt back through Spider-man's webbing, and into the web-slinger himself. Spider-man had needed to sever the webbing on his end, and leap backwards, to escape the enormous electric shock, and by then, Electro had started firing bolts of contained, charged electricity at him, putting Spidey on the defensive.

Having knocked the Rhino back, Miss Marvel's next move had been to spin around, and smack aside Octopus and Scorpion in a single backhand blow. Neither seemed to have been too badly injured by her attack, but both the Goblin and the Red Skull were quickly losing control of the situation, until Miss Marvel tried to attack Mysterio.

When Miss Marvel tried to punch Mysterio's dome-like head in, she found her fist passing right through him, and realized too late that the Mysterio she'd been aiming for had been a mere illusion. In seconds, realistic images of Mysterio were appearing all throughout the room, as his voice echoed all around her.

"You may be fast, but I'm everywhere at once. Can you find me before I find you?"

Suddenly, the Mysterios began moving around all at once, and Miss Marvel couldn't tell which ones were fake, though obviously, most of them were. She knew she needed to ignore the illusions, however. Wherever the real Mysterio was, he wasn't powerful enough to hurt her unless he possessed enormous strength as well, and she had a feeling that he didn't.

However, before too long, one of the Mysterios had grabbed Miss Marvel from behind by the shoulders, in a grip that was stronger than any vice, and driven his knee hard into her back. She winced from the pain, as a bruise spread across her back, and turned around as the illusion was dispelled, to discover that it was the Rhino; not Mysterio who'd grabbed her. The real Mysterio was nowhere to be seen.

By that point, victory for the Goblin's group was well in sight. In seconds, the Scorpion had gotten back on his feet, and fired a poisonous jet of vapor from the nozzle on his tail. As hard as Miss Marvel struggled, she was losing consciousness, as the venom did its work. The Rhino was also losing consciousness, but he, the Green Goblin decided, could be cured, and recovered later. The important thing wasn't how many of their own fell. What really mattered was that the enemies were all defeated; a possibility made even more likely a moment later, when Electro dropped the body of Spider-man next to the Rhino and Miss Marvel. If the Goblin had been counting correctly, it was only Crystal and Captain America left, and they were far less of a threat than the others.

Captain America had been in a lot of difficult and dangerous situations, but there, surrounded by so many powerful enemies, he got the distinct feeling that it was all over, both for him and for the Avengers. From what he knew of Crystal's powers, she had the ability to shape fire, water, earth and air in powerful ways, but she tended to wear herself out quickly when she attempted big miracles, and only two of their enemies seemed to have fallen. Scorpion and Octopus had gotten their bearings back, and the Sandman seemed to have pulled himself back together. Electro, Goblin and the Red Skull didn't even look like they'd broken a sweat, while Mysterio seemed to be keeping himself hidden, through some kind of illusion. Rhino was still down, and Vulture and Shocker were non-factors, but they were monstrous odds to have to face.

With a simple flick of his wrist, the Green Goblin pushed his finger into a trigger device, hidden inside one of his pumpkin-shaped bombs, causing it to start smoking from the top, then threw the bomb right at the two remaining Avengers. Cap quickly responded to the threat by raising his shield to block the brunt of the initial impact, as the bomb collided with the shield's red, white and blue surface, exploding in a fiery inferno. Captain America had known from the start that the heat the bomb generated would be a huge threat to him, but the way the flames spread wasn't like any bomb he'd ever seen before. First, they seemed to spread out into a massive ball of fire, bending around his head, then they started changing direction in mid-air; traveling back towards the enemy. It only took Captain America a moment, before he realized that it was Crystal's power that had made such an astounding feat possible. The down side was that Crystal looked as if she were already getting tired. The flames that the goblin's weapon had created were amazingly intense. The remaining Avengers weren't going to have much chance, if the enemy had survived them.

Sure enough, however, as the flames died down, nearly all of their enemies were still standing. The Goblin, Octopus, Sandman, Scorpion and Electro all seemed to have had their own means of defending themselves from that kind of attack.

"Tell me you can bring the roof down on them." Captain America said hopefully.

"Bring the roof down?" Crystal exclaimed, close to panic, but she calmed down again when Cap replied.

"It's made of stone."

"I... I can't. I'm too weak. I can't develop a proper link with the stone for another few hours. There's... There's nothing else I can do..."

"Wonderful." Captain America muttered, charging forward against the hopeless odds arrayed against him. In seconds, a single metal tentacle had shot out, and all was darkness.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	16. Issue 16: Darkness Rising Part 2

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 16

"Darkness Rising"

Part 2 of 2

* * *

Crystal was more terrified in that moment than she'd ever been. Surrounded by so many enemies with no one to back her up, she was close to trembling. However, her real fear wasn't simply a fear for her life.

Until a couple of months before, Crystal had never been in a relationship where there was understanding, trust and mystery all at once. It was for that reason that she'd first felt attracted to Johnny Storm, and it was the major reason she'd left her family and started working with the Fantastic Four, then later the Avengers. She'd been somewhat staggered by the number of diverse types of people living in his world, and particularly working together in the Avengers, but she still felt some devotion to the Human Torch, and she hated the idea of doing anything that would drive him away. It was that fear that drove her in that moment, to turn and flee, instead of trying to fight her enemies.

Electro, however, was at the doorway out in seconds, and in only a moment after that, his hand came down on her shoulder, and a mighty electric shock traveled through her whole body. She realized, however, as she lost consciousness, that there was little else she could have done. She'd been stuck, in every sense, between a rock and a hard place.

* * *

The Red Skull would have much preferred to take the downed Avengers to one of his hideouts or meeting places in the city, but as powerful as he'd become during his time in New York, he had no facility intended for storing sedated captives. The Green Goblin, it seemed, did.

However, the Skull did insist on being led to that facility, and seeing it with his own eyes as the Goblin put each of the heavily-sedated captives in their own separate chamber, no more than a few yards in any direction with windows along the front. As a partner in the Goblin's schemes, the Skull felt, understandably, that he had the right to see all that the Goblin planned to do with their enemies, although as a tactical genius, he suspected he knew at least part of the Goblin's plans.

Still, not everyone was as bright as he and the Goblin, and as he watched the Goblin imprison the fallen Avengers in the sealed chambers intended for that purpose, the Skull heard the voice of the Sandman from behind, sounding both puzzled and curious.

"I don't get it. Why keep the Avengers here? I mean, why not just kill 'em?"

The Skull sighed slightly before making his reply.

"Because these aren't all of the Avengers. There are others."

"What difference does that make? If we off these guys, we never have to deal with 'em again, right?"

"True," the Red Skull replied, "but we do have to deal with the others, and right now, we need to use every advantage we can get."

"But isn't it kind of a disadvantage to have these guys still alive?" the Sandman asked.

"Not necessarily." the Skull replied, "Remember when I gave you your first paycheck, and you asked me if you could be a field commander? I told you that the answer was no, because you lacked tactical experience."

"Yeah." the Sandman muttered, "I guess that was fair."

"This is another instance where tactical knowledge and skill leads to advantages." the Skull continued, "An inexperienced tactician might well finish off every enemy he meets on the field of battle, and in doing so, increase the desperation and ferocity of any further enemies he has to face. After all, it makes people furious when you kill one of their comrades. On the other hand, near the start of a battle, a clever tactician might just grab an enemy soldier and hold a gun to his head, and through threats and intimidation, win the battle without having to fire a single bullet."

"Are you saying the Goblin wants to use these guys as hostages?"

"In a manner of speaking. The only time the hostage tactic doesn't work is if every member of the team is a true soldier, and is ready to die for their cause or country. Tell me something, Sandman... Do you think that Spider-man is ready to die?"

The answer to that question seemed so obvious, that the Sandman didn't even bother to answer it. Whoever Spider-man was, he wasn't a soldier who was ready to give up his life; he was just a civic-minded guy, trying to do the right thing. Sandman didn't have a hard time at all picturing the other Avengers risking their necks to try to save his life.

"With a couple of exceptions, tonight was a reasonable start." the Green Goblin said as he sealed the last of the five sedation chambers, "Of course, there's still a lot of work to do, but I'm sure that with some effort, victory will be ours. Now that we have some of their members, however, the Avengers will be a much larger threat. We'll need a means of contacting each other in case one or more of us is attacked, or in case of emergency. That's why I had a number of these made in advance."

As he said that, the Goblin reached into his pouch and removed a few small items that looked a lot like miniature cell phones. Swiftly, he moved around the room, tossing one to each member of his team except Electro.

"Most of you will need these." he said, "They operate very differently from normal telephones, of course. Each will serve only to contact the rest of us in order to make plans and such... It's relatively simple. I'm sure you'll figure it out. If you break yours by accident, come to me at once for a replacement. In the meantime, if any of you have anywhere else that you need to be, or anything you need to do, you might as well go ahead and do it. I'll send out a call if I need your assistance."

"Yes." the Skull said just loud enough to be heard, "So will I."

In just a moment longer, the group started to file out of the facility, with Electro, Rhino and the Red Skull at the very back, however, just as they were about to leave, the Goblin spoke up one last time.

"Electro. A word in private before you go."

Electro had a feeling that the Goblin was about to get very angry, but he was essentially Electro's manager. Electro had to go through him to get at the cash. In a way, not much about his situation in life had changed since he'd acquired his new powers.

Once all of the others had left, Electro was alone with the Goblin, and the Goblin was confident that very few people could have overheard them in that closed-off chamber.

"Electro, I was disappointed tonight." the Goblin remarked.

"We won." Electro observed unhelpfully.

"But we also nearly lost." the Goblin replied, still rather calmly, "I don't like it when I get that close to failure, Electro. It's a liability. We only fought a small group of Avengers tonight, and we were almost beaten. If we'd been fighting all of them at once, we would have been defeated."

Electro didn't dare to reply to that. It was probably true, but it was one of the things he hated thinking about.

"Of course, if we had been defeated, I suspect that many of you would have been sentenced to heavy prison terms." the Goblin replied, "Half of every plan I make hinges on the success of previous plans. Of course, we'll need to increase our numbers further in the coming days, and I'll need to start assigning field commander positions. You, however, will not be one of them; at least not yet."

Electro knew what was coming next when the Goblin said that. He'd been trying to forget his failure against Miss Marvel, but he hadn't been able to.

"I failed you." Electro realized aloud.

"No, you didn't." the Goblin said, "What you did was worse than failing me. You disobeyed me."

"I didn't know she was immune to electric attack." Electro objected in some desperation.

"I did." the Goblin replied, "I've studied news footage of her walking through downed power lines to locate some lost children."

Electro felt hurt and disappointed as the Green Goblin explained himself, but he felt even worse about what the Goblin said next.

"I'll be blunt. I'm not a philanthropist. I don't give to charity. When I pay for something, I expect to get it. You, Electro, are well paid-for by my employer, but if you're not worth the money..."

"Not worth the money?" Electro asked, "My powers..."

"Mean nothing if you refuse to listen to me." the Goblin interrupted him, "Unless you think that your powers are great enough to defeat the rest of the Avengers by yourself. If you can do that, you'll have my thanks."

Electro hung his head slightly. He knew that he wasn't quite that powerful.

"I put a lot of work into learning the weaknesses and strengths of both my enemies and allies, and developing effective tactics against them that I think will work." the Goblin said, showing slight irritation as he spoke, "You don't had to recognize or respect that fact, but you'd damn well better obey my orders, or you're not getting another check. Tonight, you nearly cost us our victory by disobeying me. In the future, if you have a brilliant plan that you want to put into action, approach me with it and I'll consider it, but the rest of the time, just let me do the thinking. It'll save us both a lot of grief."

Electro was silent for several seconds, partly just from worry, but he knew he had to eventually say something to break the ice that was rapidly forming between himself and the Goblin.

"I think I can come up with something a little better than just a plan, sir."

At that, the Green Goblin seemed to take an interest, turning to look Electro in the face before he made his next command.

"Explain."

"Recently, I've been so exhilarated by the scope and magnitude of my new powers, that I started to think that none of my other skills made any difference anymore. When I saw what Mysterio did, though, with just that holographic machine..."

Electro paused for a moment before he continued, "Sir, you've got some of the best scientific minds in the world working for you, and you haven't wasted them. They've been building you all kinds of weapons and advantages, but even before I got these powers, I was nothing short of an expert in electronics. With your permission, I'd like to work with Octavius and Beck on a new weapon to use against the Avengers."

The Goblin was such a quick thinker, and such a genius that he didn't even need to pause to consider it.

"Alright." he said, "But it'll need to be second priority to any emergencies that arise in the meantime, and I'm sure Mister Osborn will want to oversee certain stages of its development."

"If he's the kind of man I think he is," Electro replied, "that's no problem at all."

* * *

At the time of the disappearance of Captain America and the others, only one member of the Avengers was at the mansion and alert, and Hawkeye didn't really raise the alarm for another hour and a half, because the power in that section of the city seemed to be returning to normal. By all appearances, the Avengers had solved the problem. Natalia, or Widow as she preferred to be called, probably would have raised the alarm at once. Cap was supposed to have radioed back the moment he discovered what the problem was, and he hadn't done that. It wasn't like him to ignore the safety procedures they'd developed. Hawkeye, however, who barely knew anything about Captain America, just supposed that Cap must have forgotten, or been distracted by something. It was only after over ninety minutes of waiting that it became plain to Hawkeye that Cap's team was missing.

When Hawkeye raised the alarm, nearly every recent member of the Avengers responded, though not always in affirmative. Namor was unable to come, due to apparent unrest in Atlantis that needed his attention, although the Mole Man was having no such problems, and said that he'd arrive shortly. Johnny Storm seemed to be busy with something, but was eager to drop it once he realized that Crystal's life might be in danger, and Iron Man and She-Hulk promised to return to the mansion as quickly as they could. For some reason, however, neither Widow nor Doctor Strange could be reached by their communicators. In the Widow's case, that was nothing unusual, since she tended to make herself unavailable on a regular basis for some reason of her own, but Hawkeye wasn't sure why Strange wasn't replying, nor would he have understood if someone had tried to explain the situation to him. At the time that Hawkeye had sent out the summons, Strange had retreated to his sanctum in a desperate attempt to reinforce the Earth's daemon barriers against a particularly grave threat, and in that place, no signal; electronic or otherwise could reach him by merely traveling through physical distance. As for Daredevil, no one knew where he was, or what he was doing or planning, but if he was as good a shinobi as Hawkeye had heard, he'd probably find some way to help them out before things got too bad.

By the time the five available Avengers had arrived, Hawkeye started explaining the situation as quickly and accurately as he could, but the Mole Man had interrupted him almost at once.

"Why did you wait so long before telling us about the disappearance?"

"It... It didn't seem like a disappearance at first." Hawkeye said, feeling intensely nervous, "I thought that maybe Cap and the others had just forgotten to make a report of the situation, and..."

"Captain America never forgets things like that." Iron Man replied, though without really intending to make Hawkeye look foolish, "This is a disaster. If any of them were safe, one of them should have reported in by now, whether they had their communicators or not."

"So they've all been either killed or kidnapped." the Mole Man concluded, "Surprising. I was under the impression that ordinary humans posed little threat to the Avengers."

"Well, if they're a threat to Miss Marvel and Black Bolt, they're a threat to us too." Johnny concluded, "We'll have to be careful."

"We need to be more than careful." the Mole Man replied in a grouchy, discontented tone of voice, "We need a plan, and that means we need to know a great deal more about our enemies. As much as we might want to learn the fates of the other Avengers, we can't afford to rush into this. We're not invincible."

"What're you saying?" the Human Torch asked, confused and furious, "If we just sit around and plan, Crystal and the others could be killed!"

"If we don't make a proper plan, we could all be killed as well." The Mole Man remarked, his anger starting to grow.

"I'd risk my life to save Crystal." Johnny said, his fiery temper dropping off into an icy near-accusation.

"Then you can go and risk your life. As for me, I'll make my plans. I'd prefer to be a living victor than a dead hothead."

Almost at once, a long, green arm pushed its way in between the two angry Avengers, drawing both Johnny and the Mole Man's attention to She-Hulk.

"We shouldn't be fighting." She-Hulk said as soon as she was sure she'd gotten their attention, "Johnny, the Mole Man may be right. It seems like we're all in a lot of danger, and we need to try to keep our heads cool. If we tear each other apart, there'll be nobody left to look for the others."

Johnny seemed to be fuming internally as he surrendered the point to the less abrasive, but more physically-intimidating green giantess. The Mole Man was, for once, at a loss for words, but after a few seconds spent in silence, he seemed to have arrived upon a statement that he thought sounded right.

"My intent was not to cause dissent, nor do I wish to belittle the views of others on the value of their teammates lives. It is unfortunate if I was perceived that way."

It was about the closest thing to an apology that the Mole Man was likely to give, so Jennifer gave him a short nod, although the Torch still refused to look at either of them for the moment. In the end, it had to be Iron Man who spoke next. Without Strange or Captain America, temporary command fell on his shoulders.

"Mole Man," Iron Man said, "I'm sure you wouldn't mention making plans unless you already had a pretty good idea of how you wanted to proceed. What kind of ideas do you have for finding the others, and how long would it take to put your plans into action?"

The Mole Man truly smiled then, pleased that Iron Man was developing such a high opinion of him, and responded quickly.

"It shouldn't take more than a few hours to gather the information we need, unless we also are ambushed. For the moment, our real enemies aren't people or creatures; our enemy is the mystery that surrounds the disappearance of our teammates. Until we've solved that, we won't know anything else about Captain America and the others, including whether they're alive or dead, or how and if we can save them."

"So we go to the scene of the crime, then?" Iron Man asked, amazed by the quick, if somewhat-cold conclusions drawn by the Mole Man.

"Definitely." the Mole Man said, finally smiling, as if he were truly enjoying the entire situation.

* * *

In less than fifteen minutes, the five available Avengers had made their way down to the factory that had apparently been at the center of the electrical disturbances. Hawkeye had ridden a flier, while Iron Man and the Human Torch had each flown by their own means. In her first attempt to ride a flier, Jennifer Walters had felt something snap, so she'd immediately arranged for the construction of a more powerful flier for herself with Iron Man. It wasn't finished at that point, however, so she had to make do by bridging the distance with long, powerful leaps. As for the Mole Man, no one could be sure how, but he seemed to arrive there before any of the others, and was sniffing around the outside of the building suspiciously, when Iron Man landed nearby, followed closely by Johnny Storm.

"Find anything?" Iron Man asked. The Mole Man seemed to be running his thick, broad-tipped fingers along the ground, as he sniffed the air.

"There are so many clues here, that they're obscuring one another from detection." the Mole Man replied, clearly frustrated, "However, I can already tell you how the blackout was caused, and why it stopped. I can also safely say that our teammates were taken by force."

"You mean they aren't dead?" Iron Man asked hopefully.

"I didn't say that." the Mole Man replied, to much disappointment on the part of all the others, including the newly-arrived She-Hulk and Hawkeye, "However, no blood has been spilled in or around this building in more than twelve hours. If there had been bloodshed, I would have smelled it. Our teammates might still be dead, but only if our new enemies took them elsewhere before killing them. All I know so far is what happened here. What happened here is that Captain America and the others were rendered unconscious, or put to sleep, then captured by our foes. It all happened inside the building, and there were at least eight of the enemy; maybe more. Their scents are hardly distinct enough to tell for certain."

"You said these enemies are new..." Iron Man noted, feeling a little less worried, despite the Mole Man's pessimism, "You're sure it couldn't be the Hand again, trying to pick us off?"

"I don't recognize any of the scents of these enemies, but I smelled the Hand shinobi coming from a huge distance away, even before I was... dispatched... by them. These people are not the same, and at least one was using a jet-powered machine to twist the local air currents. There's also a strong scent of ozone in the air, which confirms my previous suspicions about the blackout."

"What?" Hawkeye was very confused as he got off his flier. He felt like he was being left out of the loop somehow. He wasn't sure what the Mole Man's suspicions had been, and he didn't know what ozone had to do with it. It all seemed pretty unrelated and random in his mind.

"I get it..." Iron Man said, connecting the dots in his own thoughts.

"Then why not fill the rest of us in?" Hawkeye asked, "I'm kind of lost."

"Lightning storms and other large electrical disturbances in Earth's atmosphere leave behind thick ozone traces." Iron Man explained, "Someone or something tampered with the electric currents in this area by creating an artificial electrical disturbance."

"Do you mean like how an electromagnetic pulse can knock out electrical equipment?" Hawkeye asked.

"In other circumstances, I'd say yes," Iron Man replied quickly, "but in this case, the electrical equipment wasn't knocked out. The currents just changed direction and force, and started working in ways they shouldn't have. The light bulbs in the factory, for example, started burning even faster and brighter than normal. That wouldn't happen during an EMP."

"Given the fact that our eight-or-more enemies have the power needed to defeat Black Bolt, Miss Marvel, Spider-man and the others," the Mole Man continued, "we can safely assume that like the Hand shinobi we fought, they have special powers of their own, and I wouldn't call it much of a stretch to suppose that one of those abilities is the power to change the direction and force of electrical currents on a whim. I once designed a machine intended to do something very similar."

"So a bunch of guys; all with pretty big powers caused an electrical problem here and when Cap and the others tried to stop them, they beat them up and kidnapped them?" Hawkeye summed up, "Seems pretty obvious, except for one thing. These guys must have known we'd see their little stunt and come running. What did they want that was worth risking that?"

"Yes." the Mole Man replied, "Aside from the strengths and weaknesses of our enemies, that's the only other obvious question, but I'm afraid that in this case, the answer is just as obvious. Think about it. They changed the flow of electricity in just such a way that it would put on a massive spectacle, and not cause any irreparable damage to anyone or anything, then the moment they'd claimed victory, the lights went right back to normal, according to your observations. It sounds to me as if our enemies got precisely what they wanted; over a third of the Avengers."

"You mean it was a trap?" Iron Man asked, "They wanted to fight the Avengers?"

"It's the only explanation that makes sense." the Mole Man replied, "Maybe you've never broken the law, but I have. I know how criminals and those obsessed with power above all else think. Nothing was damaged, nothing was stolen, they seem to have claimed total victory, so they must have gotten what they were after."

Iron Man just nodded. He had to admit that the Mole Man's logic held water, although it didn't particularly lend itself to the development of a plan for getting the others back.

"So what now?" Iron Man asked, his trust in the Mole Man's skill and loyalty rapidly rising.

"Of course, the enemy will expect us to waste time and energy scouring the city for our teammates. I suspect they've even factored that into their plans, expecting us to be exhausted and desperate when we meet in battle. I, for one, have no intention of doing that. As I see it, our best chance for locating the others and stopping this group is to track down the one responsible for the electrical disturbances, which should be a relatively simple matter if your armor is as advanced as you've boasted in the past."

Iron Man knew what the Mole Man meant almost immediately. If the person who'd caused the power outages had even as much electricity as an average car, Iron Man could track where it had gone by using his scanners to pick up on the residual electrical impulses left behind in the air. In moments, he'd charted those impulses moving away from the factory, and in a second or so more, his armor's on board computer had converted that information into a visual cue for him to follow; a bright red line, traveling through the air.

"Looks like our boy can fly." Iron Man remarked in interest, "Must cost him a huge amount of power, though. To judge by the intensity of these readings, I'd say he's carrying an electric charge strong enough to electrocute a whole stadium full of people."

"That's hardly surprising." the Mole Man replied, "Can you track it?"

"Like bread crumbs." Iron Man said, his force jets activating, and propelling him into the air, in pursuit of the electric man. It was a plan of action that everyone understood, including the Human Torch. All they had to do was track Iron Man with their communicators, and follow him to their enemy's location.

* * *

The Green Goblin smiled broadly underneath his mask as he thought of the advantageous position he was in. Electro had been the last to leave, and with him gone, the Goblin was alone with his five captives. Naturally, Osborn's brilliant, if unhinged mind saw that none of his captives were in any position to resist him, which gave him an additional opportunity.

Osborn saw that he'd planned things out very well in the past, and that he was at the very pinnacle of his power as both a fighter and a team leader. He saw the delicate balance of alliances that he'd woven, and the stunning victories that those balances had won for him, and yet, deep down in the depths of his mind, under all of those layers that plotted and schemed, there was still another layer of thoughts that felt as though it should plan for the worst. Supposing that the remaining Avengers succeeded in locating the facility where their teammates were being held, rescuing their comrades and even defeating a few members of his team for a short while, Osborn knew that it would be useful to have the power to blackmail the self-styled champions of planet Earth. To be able to do that would be almost as useful as retaining a hostage, he decided, so without any further hesitation, the Green Goblin slid open one of the sedation chambers, and removed Captain America's mask.

Since Captain America had been around during the second world war, the Goblin had naturally supposed that he must have been a soldier, so he'd memorized most of the prominent commanders and esteemed soldiers' faces from that era, who'd disappeared at roughly the same time Captain America had. Since everyone who'd been present at D-day could be ruled out, it wasn't as many faces to memorize as he'd been afraid. Still, he was frustrated to find that the work had been a waste of his time. He didn't recognize the blond-haired man under the mask at all. It was infuriating, but it seemed as if his role in the war had only been as Captain America. His secret identity, if he'd really even had one, hadn't been a soldier.

"It's probably just as well." the Goblin finally had to admit, as he replaced the Captain's mask, and closed the chamber back up, "Whatever his identity was back then, I doubt he's using it now. It wouldn't be realistic to have a man show up after several decades, not having aged a day, and expecting people to believe he's not Captain America."

Neither Crystal nor Black Bolt wore masks, so the Goblin next moved over to the chamber containing Spider-man. In a couple of seconds, he'd swung it open, and removed his mask. Again, however, he was destined to be disappointed. The person inside was, to his surprise, a teenage boy with brown hair, but he'd never seen the boy before.

Taking just a moment to replace his mask, the Goblin opened the chamber contained Miss Marvel. She didn't have much of a mask; just a thin, black affair that obscured her eye color. Still, he decided, he might as well get a good look at her face. As the Goblin reached for her mask, however, a tremor shook the entire chamber he was in. Something was up. Quickly, he leapt into the air, his boots fixing themselves to the top of his glider magnetically at once, and he was off in the direction of the explosion, that had shaken the chamber just a moment before. In a few seconds, he'd found the blast marks in the walls and floor of one of the hallways, and cursed when he saw the remains of the bomb. It had been a low-yield explosive with a timer, which meant that it was intended as a distraction. Someone was inside his facility.

Quickly, the Goblin rushed back into the room where he'd left his captives sedated, and sure enough, there was Widow, trying to break open the sedation chamber that contained Miss Marvel. Of course, it was the chamber to go after. She was the only one of the trapped Avengers who had a really good chance against the Goblin, but of course, opening the chambers required greater-than-human strength, which Widow didn't possess. In the end, all she'd done was fall into the enemy's clutches.

Without a second's hesitation, the Green Goblin had pushed down on the glider with his heels, and it shot forward towards the Widow as fast as a rocket. In seemed, however, that the Widow had been expecting that kind of attack, and ducked out of the way just in time to avoid being splattered by the glider. Then, at the very last moment, as it passed by overhead, she reached up and stuck something to the bottom of it. The Goblin could feel the object sticking to the glider by magnets, and he could feel the glider's increased weight. It was all he needed to convince him to abandon ship, as the Widow ducked behind one of the sedation chambers. In seconds, the Goblin had also leapt from his glider, and another explosion; larger that the previous one, rocked the entire room, and a great deal of that section of the facility.

The Green Goblin cursed again, as shrapnel from the bomb flew everywhere, colliding more or less harmlessly with his arms and legs. Without his bulletproof mail armor, it might have actually pierced his skin, but it seemed that the worst damage the bomb had done was dislodging something inside the glider. There was no visible damage on the outside of the glider, but it had sunk to the floor in seconds, which meant that Osborn would have to repair it later.

Still, the Goblin was generally unharmed by the explosion, which was bad news for the one who'd caused it. In seconds, he'd leapt into the air, and was standing on the other side of one of the sedation chambers, trapping the Widow between himself and the chamber. Of course, the Widow reacted very quickly, lashing out with her fists, and striking him right across his masked face. She was extremely strong, for a woman. In fact, Osborn had met world-class, male martial artists whose strength paled in comparison to hers. If Osborn's mask had offered him no protection at all, he might have felt the blow, despite his greater-than-human endurance. The Green Goblin had little difficulty imagining that, with her skill, speed and strength, Widow could very well have conquered most advanced martial artists easily. He, however, was out of her league.

Quickly, the Goblin grabbed the Widow's wrist in one of his gloved hands, and grinned as electric current traveled through her body. Of course, he'd need to drag out another sedation chamber to contain her, but on the whole, the Green Goblin considered their short exchange to be a small victory; a victory that would have driven all thoughts of unmasking Miss Marvel from his mind, even if he'd expected it to end any differently than it had with Spider-man.

However, as skilled and powerful as Norman Osborn had become since his transformation into the Green Goblin, he wasn't perfect, and he didn't always see everything that went on around him. As he deposited the unconscious body of the vigilante called Widow into an empty chamber of her own, then turned up the levels of the chemicals filling it, he didn't notice one piece of damage that had been done by the shrapnel of the bomb the Widow had used. On each of the sedation chambers, just over the face of the person being sedated, there was a tiny window of tempered glass, and one of those windows had developed a crack through which a tiny stream of the sedative gas within was escaping.

* * *

Iron Man had followed the electric man's trail for quite some time, weaving in between buildings as he followed the path of minor electrical disturbances in the air, to eventually end up at a lab. He knew, of course, that just by being in that lab, he was trespassing, but if someone inside the building had kidnapped his friends, it was worth the risk of losing face in the eyes of the public. He recognized the lab as being owned and operated by the company "Full Solutions Chemicals," which was affiliated with a number of other major companies, including his own. Undoubtedly, he decided, the electric-powered person was a superhuman criminal, who'd used his powers to either take control of the lab, or else was hiding out in it illicitly. Either way, the people who normally worked there would be grateful to Iron Man for saving them from such a ruthless kidnapper.

With a smile, Iron Man burst through the front doors of the lab without thinking about it, and almost immediately, his whole body seized up, his jets turned off, and Iron Man fell to the floor, unable to control his own limbs.

* * *

Once again, the Mole Man had beaten the others to the scene, and once again, it wasn't obvious to anyone how he'd managed it; only that Iron Man seemed not to be there anymore. The Mole Man was looking anxious and distressed; a rare look for someone of his great power. Even so, he wasn't ready to panic completely. He'd waited patiently for all of the others to arrive before he even began trying to explain the situation.

"I arrived here only a moment after Iron Man did." the Mole Man explained, once Hawkeye had landed safely, and was close enough to hear him, "From the looks of things, he foolishly decided to barge in and attack the enemy all-out, when he should have waited for the rest of us. Now we're down one more member."

"Where..." She-Hulk asked, worried over her comrade's fate, "Where is Iron Man now?"

"Still inside this building," the Mole Man said, pointing to the lab as his expression of fury softened a little, "and he's still alive too, but we might not have much time, and we'll need a solid plan if we're going to make this work."

Fortunately, it was still nighttime, and still dark out, so the Mole Man had a plan of action once again.

* * *

Electro felt up and down the inside of Iron Man's armor with his powers. His presence synced easily with the electricity pulsing through every circuit of the super-advanced armor. The technology that had been used to construct the Iron Man armor was clearly equal to Mister Osborn's weapon technology; maybe even superior to it. Purely as an electronics buff, Electro found the opportunity of studying the armor of Iron Man, by using his electric powers to probe its circuits, to be wondrous and tantalizing. He probably should have been enjoying himself professionally, and yet... And yet Electro was feeling sad.

It wasn't that things had gone wrong for him in the recent past. He'd received the first of the deposits that Osborn had promised him, and yet, it hadn't stopped him from feeling pretty sad whenever he had to do something that involved assault or kidnapping. Iron Man was only his latest victim. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd felt that way. Of course, Electro didn't have many true moral scruples. Osborn had been right about that. The sadness he was feeling came more from the fact that he was having to commit acts of violence at all. He'd never been the bully in any fights when he'd been in school, and it made him sort of feel like a bully when he had someone totally at his mercy like that. Of course, reminding himself that it had been Iron Man who'd attacked first made him feel a little better, but not completely. After all, Iron Man was so helpless against him; an electric-powered super-warrior trying to fight electricity itself. It might have been the innate unfairness of his position that had really made him feel bad, but then, there wasn't much he could do about that.

Electro had finished feeling around through Iron Man's weapons and propulsion systems, and was about to start rifling through his on-board computer files, when there was a trembling sensation in the ground, and the floor underneath him started to get extremely warm. Hurriedly, Electro shoved his captive backwards, as he himself dashed away from the hot spot on the floor, as fast as he could. It was a good thing he did, too, since a moment later, a pressurized magma jet erupted from the ground, spitting molten rock in a hundred directions. Electro felt the heat oppressively, in spite of what protection his powers normally offered him. He wasn't sure how, but he knew it was the work of the Avengers, which meant that he'd been tracked down, and needed to retaliate as powerfully as he could. That, in turn, meant alerting the others to the intrusion.

With a single thought, Electro had sent a signal to the communicators of the others, informing them of the situation, and his precise location, but he wasn't sure how many of them would respond, or how long it would take them to do so.

* * *

"Sir!" the Rhino exclaimed, bursting into the Red Skull's office as his communicator continued to flash brightly, "Got a signal from Electro. Just give the word."

"Oh, it'll take more than one word to describe my plan of action." the Red Skull replied with a sneer, "I want you and the others to gather one half mile from the lab, and prepare to move in. However, don't move until I give the signal. If you haven't received my signal within fifteen minutes, take no action, and come right back here."

"We ain't gonna help 'em?" the Rhino asked, a little confused on that point.

"As far as I'm concerned," the Red Skull replied, "This Green Goblin is no kind of ally. He's a rival. I'll take what action I must in order to see him dealt with. Besides, I have my own plans for increasing our group's power. Now quickly. We may need to play our cards carefully if we're going to come out on top."

The Rhino didn't like the sound of the Red Skull's plan, but he knew who was signing the checks, and with one simple nod, he was off to join the others.

* * *

Electro had very little time to defend himself after the eruption, as one of the nearby walls exploded outward, revealing that She-Hulk had been on the other side. Quickly, she grabbed Electro with both hands, seemingly untouched by the powerful electric currents he was sending through her body as she did so. That was when the first of his help arrived.

As Electro was held in the air by She-Hulk; two feet between him and the ground, a blast of vibrational force lashed out at the bottoms of her legs, tripping her up, and causing her to drop her captive. Electro dashed backwards through the air, as soon as she'd dropped him, but in that moment of distraction, he'd completely forgotten Iron Man, and in forgetting about him, Electro had lost control of him.

A dimmer man might have tried to stay and fight. A gung-ho idiot might have tried to attack the enemy full-power. Iron Man, however, knew he'd made a mistake. While Electro had been ravaging his circuits, he'd had plenty of time to think about the ramifications of that mistake, and to consider the fact that, if his enemy really could control anything that ran on electricity, Iron Man was not only at a massive disadvantage against him, but actually a danger to his allies as well. For that reason, the moment Iron Man got back in control of his armor, he turned up the power to his jets, and rocketed backwards, out of the lab and away from the enemy that he knew he couldn't defeat.

She-Hulk felt relieved as she listened to the sound of Iron Man, bursting out of the lab through door after door. She was feeling that way, because he'd reacted just as the Mole Man had predicted, which was the second thing she'd have to thank him for. Before then, she hadn't been aware that the Mole Man had machines that could pump magma to the surface in jets from deep underground, and it didn't make her feel safe, but at least, for the moment, he was on their side, and that was what really made her feel relieved.

The feeling of relief, however, was quickly accompanied by another, more physical feeling; a coldness around her legs. It wasn't quite a relief per se, more of a strong draft, but it was easy to lose track of her actual relief in that feeling, and she didn't really know what had caused it until she'd scrambled back to her feet, and taken a look at her legs.

Sure enough, the blast of vibrational force that had knocked her off her feet had also nearly disintegrated the legs of her jeans, transforming them pretty effectively into a cool-looking pair of jean shorts with frayed bottoms. In a way, she preferred it, although the Shocker hadn't asked her permission to alter her wardrobe like that, and it wasn't as if it was easy to find comfortable jeans for a woman over six and a half feet tall.

"He's going to pay for that." She-Hulk thought angrily, as she located the other attacker quickly, and charged forward, dispatching him with one quick punch. By the time he'd finished falling to the floor, unconscious, Electro had vanished down one of the nearby hallways. It was as good a time as any to regroup.

"She-Hulk to Mole Man." She-Hulk said into her communicator, "Phase one went better than planned."

"Better? Explain."

"Well, we have a captive. Some guy with repulsor technology a little like Iron Man's."

"You've immobilized him?"

"He's unconscious right in front of me."

"Hmmm..." the Mole Man muttered, sounding, for a moment, almost happy as he said "Nice job. Hold your position if you can. The rest of us will follow."

Sure enough, the Mole Man and the others were there in a hurry. For such a small man, he certainly ran very quickly, arriving only a short time after Hawkeye.

"You were right." She-Hulk said, "There's a guy here who controls electricity. Iron Man got out of here as fast as he could."

"Yes." the Mole Man replied, which surprised Johnny. He'd been expecting the Mole Man to say something along the lines of "Well, of course," or "Naturally."

"I wasn't expecting to have to deal with a captive, but there are ways to cope with that."

The Mole Man motioned for Hawkeye to pick up the unconscious Shocker, and carry him outside without another word. Once Shocker had been deposited on the ground, the Mole Man turned a dial on his staff, and pressed it inward, then clapped his staff against the ground. In seconds, there was a rumbling in the earth beneath their feet and a large, drill-shaped machine about the size of a car erupted from the soil. As it settled down, opening on one side, small creatures emerged. They looked a lot like albino monkeys with enormous eyes, but the Mole Man spoke to them in an actual language, though admittedly, one that no one else there could understand. In seconds, the slim, but powerful beings had seized Shocker and carried him into the drill, closing it up around him.

"That... was the creepiest thing I've ever seen..." Johnny Storm remarked with a shiver. The Mole Man didn't even turn to face him when he replied.

"Do some exploring once in a while." the Mole Man suggested, grinning just a little in satisfaction, "I think you'll find there are many, many terrifying things on, in and around planet Earth, and few of them are truly wicked."

Without another word about it, the Mole Man led the Avengers back into the building, explaining to them what he'd just done.

"Those you just saw are my people; the intelligent, humanoid beings that dwell in Subterra. They have my trust, and I have theirs, as well as their obedience. They will make certain that our captive does not escape until we can decide what to do with him next. Of course, our first priority should be recovering the others. We must locate the electric man again. He'll know where they've taken our teammates."

The group continued down hallways and through rooms, for almost a minute in pursuit of Electro, but at last, the Mole Man's large nose gave a twitch, and he raised one hand, signaling them all to stop.

"The scent is strongest here." he whispered in a voice only just loud enough to be heard by everyone there, "Hawkeye. Do you have any sonic emitters?"

"Standard equipment for me." Hawkeye said, digging one out of a side pocket of his quiver, "Why?"

"Give it to me." the Mole Man replied curtly, and after only a second's hesitation, Hawkeye did just that. Soon, the Mole Man was pulling out and rearranging wires in the emitter. When he was finished, the emitter was rigged very differently than Hawkeye was used to, with an open space midway through it, and most of its sonic power directed not into noise-making, but into the creation of sheer vibrational force.

"Give me an arrow." the Mole Man then said, which Hawkeye obediently did, watching in amazement as the small man fitted the emitter onto the arrow, disconnecting and reattaching the activation switch to face the arrowhead. He then removed a small, black, egg-like object from his belt and cracked it open on the arrowhead, covering it in what looked like tar. At last, he handed it back to Hawkeye, whispering, "Be careful with that. Don't let the disrupter touch the arrowhead."

That was when Hawkeyes saw what the Mole Man had done, and was amazed that he'd never thought of it himself. In less than a minute, the Mole Man had crafted an arrow with a sonic disrupter threaded through it, wired in just such a way that when the arrow hit its target, the disrupter would slide forth and activate, pummeling everything nearby with violent sound waves, and with the tar on the arrowhead, it would stick to anything it hit. With some time, and some work, Hawkeye was pretty sure he could do even better, but the idea had never crossed his mind before.

Soon, the Mole Man seemed satisfied as he listened carefully for any sound from nearby. Silently, he motioned for Hawkeye to follow him towards a nearby doorway, then pointed to the arrow, then the door, then held up four of his fingers. Hawkeye understood. He was to wait for a few minutes, then fire the sonic arrow into the room. In the meantime, the Mole Man returned to where Johnny and She-Hulk were.

"As soon as you hear the sounds of destruction, barge into that room and roast everything that's moving." the Mole Man said, "They'll be able to defend themselves. Your job is as a distraction. Hawkeye will continue to fire from outside the door, while Miss Walters and I charge them head-on. We'll wait for three seconds after you begin your attack, but don't worry about us. We can each take care of ourselves, I suspect."

The Human Torch obviously didn't feel very good about shooting his flames directly at anyone, no matter who they were, or how much kidnapping they'd done, but he nodded nonetheless. He would have done nearly anything to save Crystal from harm.

When the plan had been arranged with the others, the Mole Man nodded to Hawkeye, who got the message. In a flash, he'd fired the arrow into the room, and a loud ringing echoed throughout the compound. It wasn't the kind of loud ringing one expects from a sonic disrupter, which must have had something to do with how the Mole Man had rewired it. The sound it produced wasn't particularly painful to anyone there, but the blasts of vibrational force that it sent out in all directions were. In a flash, shouting and panic was heard in the room that Hawkeye had fired the arrow into, which meant that it was the Human Torch's turn.

Just as Electro had drained the power away from the sonic emitter, Johnny Storm burst into flames, being careful to keep any of them from hurting his teammates, and in a single burst of blinding speed, he'd charged into the adjacent room. Sure enough, it was a large room; it looked like a lab of some kind, and there were three people there, none of whom looked defenseless. One had four enormous, metal tentacles fused to his back, each with a set of claws on the end, another wore a cape, and seemed to have a crystal ball over his head, and the last was the electric man. Lightning circled around him, travelling through him, and radiating from him, as fire did the Human Torch. Nevertheless, Johnny wasn't afraid. He rose up into the air, and started his assault, hurling balls of intense flame down on the room's inhabitants.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the Mole Man's instructions to the Torch had been sensible. Each of the three people in that room seemed to have some means of defending themselves from Johnny's attack; Mysterio by turning invisible, Doctor Octopus' tentacles seemed to have been designed solely to swat aside intense flames, and as for Electro... Electro was headed right for Johnny, scowling angrily as he charged through the air at the flaming teenager.

Several times in a row, Johnny's flames, and Electro's lightning met in mid-air with a sharp snap of power, and yet, neither could quite overpower the other. As each tried in vain to use their powers against the other, or to grab the other with something, Johnny realized with disappointment that he and the electric man were dead even. Fortunately, however, She-Hulk and Mole Man were right behind him, and reinforcements like that were hard to come by.

While Johnny and Electro traded explosions of their respective energy types near the ceiling, She-Hulk and the Mole Man charged forward. The man with the tentacles seemed to be the first to the attack, but the Mole Man quickly turned one end of his staff, causing a blast of intense power to shoot out of the other end, and knocking the first of the metal tentacles aside. The Mole Man then braced his staff against another of the tentacles, vaulting himself upward into the air, towards his new enemy. The man's two other tentacles pursued the vaulting Mole Man, but he reacted by grabbing another tar pellet from his belt, and tossing it at the two approaching metal arms. Almost at once, the sticky substance connected the two tentacles together, just long enough for the Mole Man to strike them aside with his staff in mid-air, then deliver a sharp kick to his attacker's face.

Of course, the attacker's tentacles had seemed like extremely powerful weapons, so that was how the Mole Man had treated them. Likewise, the rest of his body had seemed like a massive weak spot. However, things aren't always what they seem, and although the Mole Man's muscles were powerful enough to tackle a full-grown man with relative ease, his kick seemed to have done next to nothing to his enemy. Clearly, it wasn't just a matter of the tentacles that the man had. His entire body was shielded from damage somehow, which meant that the Mole Man needed to adopt a new tactic quickly.

Bracing his other foot against his enemy's chest, the Mole Man slid away from him, and out of the path of his tentacles, which were recovering from the temporary beating they'd taken. Then, before he'd even gotten his bearings back, the Mole Man had fired the energy weapon on the end of his staff again, pegging his enemy right in the face with it. The moment the blast hit him, Otto Octavius flew backwards through the air, colliding hard with the wall behind him, and putting a large dent in it, but in spite of all the damage he'd taken, he was getting back up, and the Mole Man didn't have a weapon more powerful than his staff-mounted blaster.

In the meantime, She-Hulk had been trying to track down the one who'd turned invisible. Under other circumstances, she might have just clapped her hands hard, and created a fresh shock wave, to force her hidden opponent out of hiding, but a wave like that would almost certainly hurt the Mole Man and the Torch as well, and she didn't want to run that risk.

Of course, it seemed unlikely that her enemy was powerful enough to do any real damage to her, which was at least a little reassuring, but not being able to find him was a problem. As the fighting continued, however, She-Hulk heard a voice from all around her, and it definitely didn't belong to anyone she knew.

"Don't bother trying to look for me. I'm not going to be caught so easily. You know, it wasn't smart of you Avengers to come here. You can't beat us."

"Yeah, right." She-Hulk replied with a smirk, "What exactly have you got that can hurt me, kid?"

Then, suddenly, a wide variety of images began appearing in the air before She-Hulk, though she didn't stop smirking as they appeared. After all, they were only illusions.

"I can create a visible illusion in any shape, form or color I want." the ten-foot tall globe-head said, looking down at her, which Jennifer didn't exactly like, "That is the power of Mysterio."

"Cute." Jennifer said, "Except if they're just illusions, they can't hurt me."

"Oh, that's just not true." Mysterio replied, sounding a little offended, "They are simple light images, of course, but light can have a profound effect on the human brain; especially in certain patterns and colors, at certain speeds. I'm sure that even your brain isn't immune to that."

She-Hulk wasn't sure. She didn't even understand what Mysterio was describing, until he opened his cloak, and out from it came bright strobe lights in various colors. Jennifer Walters could feel herself growing tired as the lights assaulted her senses, and quickly turned away, closing her eyes to try to get her bearings. In seconds, however, she heard the voice of the Mole Man, speaking to her.

"Let me fight him. No attack made of light will have any effect on my eyes, and your strength is needed to overpower the one with the metal arms."

Jennifer just nodded, shaking her head swiftly, to try to regain her senses when a large, metal tentacle struck her in the side of the head, knocking her to the floor. It barely hurt at all, however, and soon, she was back on her feet; still a little dizzy, but ready to continue the fight.

As She-Hulk seized more than one of the metal tentacles from the air, the Mole Man turned back to face Mysterio, who was standing in a corner, far away from the illusion of himself that he'd created.

"You can drop the bent light screen that's keeping you invisible now." the Mole Man said as he faced his new enemy, "It won't work against me anyway. I know exactly where you are."

Mysterio seemed to have suddenly grown worried, and more strobe lights began their attack, assaulting the Mole Man dead-on, but as he'd predicted, they had absolutely no effect on a being such as himself, who hardly ever used his sense of sight anyway. In moments, the Mole Man had vaulted across the room, and grabbed Mysterio by the legs, knocking him to the ground. Only a second after that, he'd driven his staff downward, into a weak point between Mysterio's crystal ball head, and the armor he wore to protect his body. The moment that was accomplished, Mysterio went limp, and all of his illusions faded.

A few seconds later, She-Hulk deposited the unconscious body of Doctor Octopus next to Mysterio, and the Mole Man grinned. The Human Torch, in turn, had backed off from Electro, who was starting to realize the dangerous position he was in. He was terrified, and quickly tried to leave by the lab door, but found an arrow pointed at his neck, just as he was trying to get away. In another second, She-Hulk had grabbed him from behind, and slammed him against one of the nearby walls.

"Tell us where you took the others." She-Hulk demanded, "Where are Captain America and the other Avengers?"

Electro was both very scared, and intensely embarrassed. He'd been brought down so quickly and easily by just a couple of the Avengers, and worse yet, he was terrified of them. Even while he'd been fighting the Human Torch, most of what he'd felt had been fear, and having finally lost, he felt about ready to die of shame. Crime, he realized, wasn't his area of expertise, simply because he couldn't always succeed in it, as he did in electronics.

"Let go of me, and I'll tell you." Electro said. He was still terrified, but he was trying to come up with some plan... any plan that would result in him going free.

"Yeah, right." She-Hulk said sarcastically, but the Mole Man had arrived at a different decision.

"Miss Walters, stand in the doorway, then let go of him. He can't get past you with mere electricity, and if he tries to, you can just grab him again."

"Seriously?" She-Hulk asked, confused and surprised, but nonetheless, she did as the Mole Man had said, letting Electro go. In a moment, he was on the floor, looking even a little paler than usual.

"I'm going to trust you to let me go in exchange for the information you want." Electro said, and sensibly, no one tried to debate that point with him. They needed the information.

"Captain America and his teammates are right in this very facility." Electro said, "They..."

Suddenly, there was the sound of metal being torn to shreds, and powerful equipment being crushed under something enormous. She-Hulk swallowed hard. She only knew of one being the world prone to causing destruction that sounded like that.

* * *

The alarm on Norman Osborn's watch went off midway through his latest meeting with the board of directors for Oscorp.

"Sorry about this." he said, "I'd forgotten a lunch meeting I had. Excuse me."

Leaving behind several indignant division heads, Osborn left the meeting, and rushed back to his office, logging into his desktop computer. Almost at once, he'd discovered what had caused the alarm to go off, and slumped back into his seat in disappointment. From the looks of things, a great deal of damage had been done to the confinement area, and all six of the sedation chambers he'd been using had been broken open, the lids snapped clean off. As for who or what had done it, Osborn only had a few guesses...

* * *

"Never mind these fools." the Mole Man said as soon as he'd heard the ruckus, "Our first priority is to reunite with the others. For all we know, there might by hundreds more where these came from. We'll need to confront them as a single unit."

She-Hulk didn't exactly like the idea of letting a bunch of kidnappers with superhuman powers go free, but the Mole Man's advice had been pretty sound before, and she was willing to make a leap of faith, for once.

"What was that noise?" She-Hulk asked, feeling curious and more than a little confused, as the four Avengers headed down the nearest hallway in the direction that the sounds had come from.

"Destruction." the Mole Man replied, "It was the sound of some huge creature, tearing apart machinery. I can tell you which direction the sound came from, but as for what kind of being is responsible, I can't be sure. I've never sensed anything like it before. It was almost as if..."

However, instead of explaining himself any further, the Mole Man simply trailed off. Something about what he'd sensed was distracting him. He was obviously not eager or prepared to describe it. In fact, he looked emotionally distressed, as if he were imagining something fantastic and wonderful, but his cynicism was preventing him from believing in it, like a faerie, or world peace. She-Hulk wished, for a moment, that she could have seen into his thoughts. The Mole Man tried to act professional at all times, just to keep up appearances, but he had feelings, just like everyone else, and his were curious, and indecipherable at times.

For whatever reason, the Mole Man seemed to be in just as much of a hurry to investigate the disturbance as anyone, leading them down hallways and through even more labs, until they came to the chamber which had clearly been the source of the commotion. Unfortunately, the sight that met their eyes inevitably produced more questions than answers.

The edges of the room were littered with debris and wreckage. In the ceiling, a large hole had been made in the metal, as if by some large, round object striking it from underneath, or a blast of power being fired directly upward, but if so, it must have been intensely powerful; more powerful than even the blasts the Mole Man could create with his staff.

There were large dents in all of the walls, most of them larger than a full-grown man, as if caused by the explosion of power that had presumably littered the room with debris. There were even two large dents in the floor. Most of the debris, though, wasn't made from the walls or ceiling, but seemed to have come from a series of isolation capsules, about ten feet long, and three wide and deep; probably intended to contain human captives as they slept, or were kept unconscious by drugs, more likely. Of course, the Mole Man could only tell so much about what the machinery had been used for, because what was left of it had been twisted into a contorted mess, and swept to the edges of the room, where it formed the largest part of the debris pile.

In the center of the room, strangely, lying on the dented floor, were Spider-man, Miss Marvel, Captain America, Black Bolt, Crystal, and surprisingly, Widow as well. They all seemed to be breathing heavily, and on the very verge of waking up, but there was no sign of whatever being, creature or person had caused such destruction, and liberated them from their prisons. Mole Man probably should have just been worried by that, but truthfully, he felt more disappointed than anything. Ever since he'd first heard of Captain America's disappearance, the Mole Man had longed to see the mystery through to its conclusion, and more recent events had made that longing to solve the mystery greater than it had ever been for him, and yet... and yet... The Mole Man cursed silently. He felt robbed of his answers, and of his victory. He'd have to settle, he realized, for claiming the smaller victory of rescuing the other Avengers.

However, it wasn't only the disappearance of their rescuer that irked the Mole Man, and it wasn't the only side of the mystery that had remained unsolved, as he removed a chemical pellet from his belt, and used it to wake a few of the others, who didn't seem to be waking on their own. There was another mystery that hadn't been solved, and that was the identity of Captain America's real kidnapper. The four that they'd fought with while bursting into the lab had possessed impressive powers, and that was about it. None of them looked, or sounded as if they had any great ambitions to trick or undermine the Avengers. In fact, it seemed more likely that all four of them were working for someone else, and that was the person who'd escaped them that day; the real mastermind behind the kidnappings.

Black Bolt and Crystal had been the first to wake, their inhuman physiology obviously giving them an advantage, followed by Miss Marvel, then Widow and Captain America shortly after that. Spider-man took nearly sixty more seconds, and by that time, Widow had decided to confer with the Mole Man about what had happened to her.

"There was a group of them. A large group, each with some power or weapon beyond what's normally available to humans." Widow said as she approached the Mole Man.

"We fought and defeated four of them." the Mole Man replied, picking up on what she meant instantly, and getting right down to business, "Were there others?"

"At least six more." Widow explained, "I can't be sure, but I don't think they have a single leader. Still, they all seemed to listen to one who called himself the Green Goblin. Unfortunately, I don't have much information on him yet."

"Be sure to keep me apprised of anything you learn about this group in the future." the Mole Man replied as the Avengers headed for the exit of the lab, "We have to take them seriously. This whole affair has proven it."

* * *

Of course, the kidnappers wound up getting away. The electric man must have somehow used his powers to wake the others almost as soon as he'd been left alone with them, because the Mole Man later heard from his people that the Shocker had been taken from them by powerful mechanical arms. He knew what that meant.

For Peter Parker, though, the whole affair had taken on a terrifying significance. It was almost morning by the time he got back home, and removed his Spider-man costume, which meant that he wasn't going to get any sleep before school. That meant, in turn, that he might wind up falling asleep in class, and the guys who'd been responsible for the whole shebang hadn't even been brought in yet. For all he knew, they might just try it again. It was a scary thought. It had been a while since Peter had really thought about the way he took his life in his hands every time he put on his Spider-man mask. Of course, that realization didn't change his decision any. Uncle Ben's sacrifice had taught him that there were too many victims in the world, and risking his life in the hopes of saving some of them was just something he had to do. All the same, it was a painful thing to think about; the idea that one night, he might not come home, and Aunt May wouldn't know what had happened to him... ever.

As he'd expected, Peter wound up getting plenty of sleep during a math lecture that day and knew he'd have to spend some extra time reading with his spider-speed to catch up on the material, if he could ever manage to get a good night's sleep. For the most part, though, his morning classes just sort of drifted by with very little sleep, and very few actual thoughts thrown into the mix. He was too tired to do much of anything except sleep, and yet, still in too much pain to even do that right. By the time lunch period came around, Peter Parker was just about ready to collapse again. However, he knew he still had work to do. Harry Osborn was sitting alone again, and the look of sadness all over his face was always a warning sign to Peter. Something bad was going on.

"Harry?" Peter said, dropping his lunch bag on the table with a subdued thud, "What's wrong?"

Harry didn't speak for a moment as he looked at Peter in some worry. It seemed like he wanted to just say that nothing was wrong; put on a brave face for his best friend, but to him, it would have felt too much like lying. It probably wouldn't be long before Peter found out anyway.

"Peter..." Harry said sadly, "My father took all my stuff the other day."

"What?" Peter asked, suddenly confused and curious, and despite his exhaustion, alert.

"Yeah. My posters, my computer... Everything down to my bed, and the rugs in my room."

"Isn't that stealing?" Peter asked, confused.

"Not according to him." Harry replied, "He says he paid for everything I have, so it really belongs to him anyway."

Peter wasn't sure how to reply to that at first. He had no idea what Norman Osborn could possibly want with the contents of his own teenage son's room. Even if he planned to try to sell the things that Harry had used, it wasn't a good enough reason to betray his own son. In fact, Peter had to think long and hard before he could fathom any reason that even came close to good enough.

"Maybe he wants you to do something for him..." Peter said at last.

"Why're you taking his side, Pete?" Harry demanded angrily.

"Harry, calm down. I'm not taking his side. I'm taking your side." Peter said, which seemed to calm Harry a little.

"So why do I care what he wants?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Well, he made a big problem for you, right?" Peter asked, receiving a nod in reply from Harry, "I'm not going to try to excuse what he did, but if he's actually resorted to stealing from you, he must be furious with you about something. If you can find out what it is, maybe you can get him to listen to reason."

"Pete, he's never listened to me before. I mean..."

"Have you listened to him?"

"What?"

"Have you listened to him? I mean, have you really listened to want he wanted from you? If he's ignoring you, he might feel like you're ignoring him."

Harry thought about it for a second, looking more and more miserable as he did so. When he spoke again, he was obviously very upset.

"I can't stand that man, Peter. Just the idea of having to do what he says... I mean, it makes me sick."

Peter had to think for a little bit about what to say next. It was especially difficult to decide on what to say, because of how tired he still was, and how much he still ached all over, but in the end, he had to say something.

"Harry, I wish I could have met you when we were just kids. I think you would have liked my Uncle Ben. He was strict sometimes, and he had high standards, but he was always fair, and he never took anything personally. He was the wisest man I ever met, and he taught me a lot of important things before he died. I still think about him whenever I feel like I need guidance."

Harry seemed to scoff a little as he muttered, "Wish I knew somebody like that."

"I knew him as well as anyone did." Peter replied, "If you want, I could tell you what he'd say about your problem."

Harry looked a little surprised, but after a few moments, he nodded briefly.

Peter paused for a moment, not sure how to put it. As with all major deliberations that ran through his thoughts, he heard the voice of his uncle, and was encouraged by it. In a very real way, Uncle Ben had become a part of Peter Parker's own mind, and in that instance, he knew his uncle had good advice to offer.

"Peter," Uncle Ben said in his nephew's thoughts, "don't just tell him what I would have said. Say it yourself."

Peter also gave a short nod, before he spoke again, with confidence, firmness, and yet, gentleness.

"Harry," Peter said, "in life, there are lots of things people don't have any choice over, but it's the things we do have a choice over that we worry about the most. The biggest of those are our power, and our responsibilities. Power and responsibility go hand in hand, Harry. You can't have one without the other, or you'll just cause a whole lot of misery for everyone. The more responsibility you have, the more power you can be trusted with. The hard part is that everyone needs some responsibility, and that's something people these days don't want to have. But we all need that responsibility, Harry, because we need the power it comes with, just to survive. That's the reality of it."

Harry was astonished as he listened to the speech emerge from the mouth of his best friend. He'd never suspected that bookish Peter Parker had such depth to him before, and the really strange thing was that he still didn't know the half of it.

"I just... I feel like I'm alone." Harry muttered sadly, and Peter knew he had to reply to that too.

"Harry, I'm your friend, and I care about what happens to you. I'm here for you. You're not alone unless you want to be."

"I'll bet he'd listen to you, Pete." Harry said, but Peter shook his head.

"I can stick up for you, Harry, but I can't solve your problems. You still have to take responsibility if you want to take control of this situation back from your father."

Harry looked away. It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do or say. Harry Osborn had never taken responsibility before.

"He won't listen to me." Harry said again.

"How do you know?" Peter asked back.

"Because he told me." Harry replied, still looking irritated, "He's said more than once that he won't listen to any of my requests, unless I bring him an A-plus grade slip, and I just don't have the grades. Even if I study until I'm exhausted and my eyes ache, I can't seem to get better than a B."

Peter was on firmer ground once again. He replied quickly.

"Harry, maybe if we studied together, you'd have an easier time with the material."

"Maybe..." Harry replied with some hesitation, "but it'll still be more than a month, even if things go exactly right. Peter, I don't have that kind of time. I can't sleep on the floor all month, or I'll be too exhausted to study at all."

Peter thought about it for a moment. Harry was his best friend, and Peter knew that he had to do what he could to help him, even if it cost him a lot of time, or even his Avengers membership.

"Did your dad tell you that it had to be your report card?"

* * *

Norman Osborn had just gotten home from his day job, walked up the staircase to his room, and removed his tie. It had been a long day, of course, but very rewarding, and despite his recent failures, he wasn't feeling too bad.

Just then, however, he heard a knock on his bedroom door, and said "Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow."

"No dad." came Harry's voice from the other's side of the door, "We need to settle this now."

Osborn smiled a little, dropped his tie on his bed, then turned to open the door, and sure enough, there was Harry, shoving a slip of paper into his hands.

It wasn't hard to tell what the slip of paper was, and thanks to his excellent memory, Norman knew why Harry was giving it to him. Even so, there was one problem.

"This grade slip isn't yours, Harry." Norman said, handing it back to him.

"You never said it had to be mine." Harry replied snidely.

Norman just looked at his son for several seconds after he said that, then with a slight, amused chuckle, he remarked, "Alright. Fair enough. Tell you what, then. If you bring me the person who actually earned this slip, I'll talk to them about your future. Sound fair?"

"Why not?" Harry asked, "He's standing right behind me."

Norman hadn't been expecting that reply, but naturally, he looked behind Harry anyway, and there he saw... There he saw Spider-man.

Norman Osborn would never have forgotten that face, or indeed, any of the faces of his enemies. Spider-man was definitely standing behind Harry, though Harry probably didn't know about the young man's other identity.

At first, Norman was stricken with distinct fear. If Spider-man had somehow learned of his identity... But no. None of the Avengers knew that Norman Osborn was the Green Goblin, and Spider-man probably wasn't even aware that the Goblin knew what his face looked like. After all, he'd been unconscious when the Green Goblin had unmasked him. If he did know that Osborn was the Goblin, why show up in his human identity? Why not just show up as Spider-man? As incredible as it seemed, the safest bet was to suppose that encountering each other like that was a complete coincidence, which meant that Norman was better off acting as if he didn't know who Spider-man was, and revealing no information about himself while doing so.

"Well, in that case, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mister..." Norman began.

"Parker." Spider-man said, "Peter Parker."

When he said that, Norman turned to look at Harry again.

"The same Peter Parker who became your first friend at your new high school?"

Harry just nodded.

"Well, it seems I owe you a little something." Norman said with a genuine-looking smile, "Let's talk in private, Peter."

Peter didn't exactly feel very good about talking about Harry to his own father, when Harry wasn't around, but he wasn't being given a whole lot of choice in the matter. Motioning for Harry to stay where he was, Norman Osborn lead Peter downstairs, and into what looked like a small library, with a desk at one end. In spite of his powers, Peter felt much intimidated as Norman sat in a small chair on the other side of the desk, and motioned to a mid-sized armchair, encouraging Peter to sit as well. Peter wasn't sure he was ready for the discussion he was apparently about to have, but he still wanted to help Harry out, and he'd faced down armed gunmen before. A man behind a desk was several steps down from that where danger levels were concerned.

"Well?" Osborn asked after only a few seconds.

"Well what?" Peter asked, confused.

"Let's get down to brass tacks." Osborn continued, "After all, I'm a busy man, and if you're as well-educated as your grade slip indicates, you must be a busy young man yourself. Why not just tell me what you want from me?"

Peter found the situation just a little ridiculous. It was a very personal, family affair, and Osborn was talking about it like a business deal. Even so, Peter found the courage to speak up eventually.

"Sir, today Harry told me you'd taken back everything you ever gave to him."

"That's right." Osborn said, still looking stern and businesslike.

"Why, sir?"

"Because he's done nothing to earn them. My son is a hopeless layabout, who'll never amount to anything if he doesn't get his act together. I never had an unfair advantage in my journey up the corporate ladder, and yet, I made a fortune. One way or another, he'll have to learn to, if not do the same, then at least support himself. He can't keep mooching off of me for his whole life. One way or another, he has to learn responsibility."

Peter was silent for a moment. It was painful to hear Osborn talking so badly about his own son to a total stranger, but from everything that Peter had seen, Osborn was right about Harry. He never took anything seriously. The harsh reality of bills and responsibilities never seemed to have penetrated Harry's skull until just recently.

"I... think he's been getting better at that recently..." Peter said hesitantly, but Osborn spoke just as confidently as before, and without any hesitation at all.

"'Recently' meaning since I took his things away." Norman noted.

"Yes sir." Peter replied, not sure what else to say.

"I'll be blunt, Peter." Norman said, "It doesn't cost me much to have Harry staying here, but at the moment, I'm still afraid that if I give his things back, he'll go right back to the way he was; selfish, lazy and foolish. If I could be sure he was really improving, and knew that it was his responsibility to work for the living he's always taken for granted..."

Osborn's words faded just then, and that was when Peter suggested the very thing that Osborn had hoped he would.

"Well, sir... If you don't mind me coming over here from time to time, I've already offered to help tutor Harry. I think he could keep up a lot better, if he just had someone to explain things to him."

"Well..." Osborn muttered, "He's had tutors before, and they never did him much good. Still, maybe with you being his friend, and now that he realizes the gravity of his own actions, the result will be different. You'd really tutor him? I mean, you wouldn't want anything in exchange?"

"Harry's my friend, Mister Osborn." Peter said, "That's enough of a reward for me."

"Curious." Osborn replied with an almost expressionless look across his face, "Still, if you're willing to put forth the time and effort on his behalf, I think I could give him a second chance. I'll need you to explain the situation to him tonight. By tomorrow morning, his things will be back in his room."

"Thank you, sir." Peter said, not sure whether he should be thanking Osborn or not.

"One more thing, though." Osborn continued, just as Peter was about to leave, "I need Harry to understand that this is only a temporary fix. If his grades don't reach reasonable levels by the end of the month after next, I'm taking it all back, no matter whose fault it is."

Peter could understand at once why Harry hated his father so much. Norman was either extremely cold-hearted, or else a very good actor. Even so, he'd made it pretty clear just how far he was willing to be pushed, and that Harry had tested that limit many, many times. It was the most that Peter could hope to do for Harry. The rest was up to him.

However, as Peter Parker left the wealthy man's study, closing the door behind him, Norman Osborn leaned further back in his chair, with a pleased smile on his face. He was quite convinced that Peter had no idea that he was, in fact, the Goblin, while he knew exactly who Peter Parker was, and not only that, Parker would be coming over to his house regularly in the future.

"Don't wander off now, Spider-man." Norman Osborn muttered to himself with a chuckle, as he got to his feet, and headed back up to bed.

* * *

The End


	17. Issue 17: Temper

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 17

"Temper"

* * *

It was just like every other morning, in a lot of ways. Larry Chabot got out of bed, feeling a little groggy, made himself some breakfast, got dressed in a hurry, then packed his things for the day, and left his apartment to go to work. Larry's work was mainly in architecture. He worked as part of a small team of specialists, who had the job of gauging the stability of different plots of land and, when necessary, making plans to level the land and pack the soil where construction was going to take place. It was the kind of job most people don't hear about, but one mistake could cause thousands of dollars worth of damage.

He made it all the way down to the site where he was supposed to meet the rest of his team, and parked where he'd been told to; in a parking space across the street from the site. By the time he'd taken his keys out of the ignition and locked the car, Larry could see that a few of the others had started to arrive. In a short time, everyone was there. Everything was going according to schedule.

Of course, there hadn't been much time to set up the machines they'd be using to test the density of the packed earth on that site, so that was the first thing. A few small, surface-level devices had to be planted first, but none of them weighed more than fifty pounds, thanks to the Stark technology used to make them. Not only that, but each was fitted with a special, new type of scanner that could sense the density of a dirt area five times the size of scanner drills from five years before. It definitely made the work go quicker. Not as much time was spent sitting around and waiting for the drill to finish its work.

However, on that day, something had gone wrong. Just as Larry stuck his drill into the ground, another member of his team, named Kendall, bumped into him from behind, causing Larry to fall forward, onto the drill's handles, and tipping the drill over by almost ten degrees. Of course, the handles didn't have any sharp points, so Larry was alright, but he immediately righted himself, absolutely furious, and spun around to face Kendall, who seemed almost as perturbed.

"What's your problem?" Larry demanded furiously as the two stared each other down, "You just slammed into me like a freight train!"

"My problem is, you almost hit me in the head with that drill when you brought it over here, and I didn't bump into you on purpose!" Kendall exclaimed angrily.

"Don't throw excuses at me!" Larry shouted, "I'll have to set this whole thing up all over again in a new section! It's a waste of time just because you wanted to get me back for something that wasn't my fault!"

"I'm sick of you!" Kendall exclaimed, "You've been lying to me since I first joined up. You lied about Bhasin, you lied about the work, and you lied about Claudia!"

"Don't you dare bring Claudia into this! I had no idea what was going to..."

"I'll bring her into it if I feel like it!"

"Damn you!"

In just a moment, Kendall had grabbed Larry by the front of his shirt, and a moment after that, the two of them were fighting, each hitting each other as hard as they could. Other members of their team approached to try and stop the two, but were soon embroiled in the fight themselves, as the feelings of hate and malice continued to rise all around them...

* * *

In the middle of his Sanctum Sanctorum, Doctor Strange sat, concentrating his impressive magic on strengthening the barriers around the planet Earth, when he suddenly started to feel what was happening in the outside world, and his eyes opened wide in alarm.

"No..." he muttered, as he quickly cast a spell of teleportation. What he'd just sensed was terrible beyond words; a threat even worst than the blight that had been Shuma Gorath, and Doctor Strange knew that it was much too big a threat for him to confront alone. No man could fight such a monstrous being alone and have any prayer of survival. As far as Strange could tell, the only remaining hope for the planet Earth lay with the team of heroes that he was the leader of; the Avengers.

* * *

"I still don't see why you had to disappear like that." Hawkeye said angrily. Widow was on the other side of the room, reading from her computer while standing up, as if she were about to run out the door at any second, but she'd been standing there for almost fifteen minutes already, so Hawkeye wasn't going to worry about that.

"I mean, I thought we worked pretty well as a team." Hawkeye continued, "Didn't you want my help anymore?"

"When I discovered that you had a secret identity, you became a liability." Widow replied, still not turning to look at him.

"What?" Hawkeye asked, confused and hurt, "I'm no liability. I'm Hawkeye. I'm the greatest marksman I've ever met. I can take care of..."

"Your name is Clint Barton." Widow corrected him.

"And yours is Natalia Romanova." Hawkeye replied, "Does that make you a liability?"

"There's a reason I don't wear a mask." Widow replied, "Natalia Romanova is a name with no connections. I live my life without friends or relatives, or in most cases, professional acquaintances. Everything about me is sculpted around a single intention; doing the most good that I can do as a spy, investigator and vigilante. As far as anyone knows, Natalia Romanova doesn't exist. There are no records that I was even born. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't have been an ordinary person, and I don't want to until people learn to do the right thing."

"But why were you so worried just because I had a secret identity?" Hawkeye asked, feeling more and more hurt as Widow talked.

"Because at first, I thought you might have been like me; a person who'd cast aside all human connections in order to save as many people as possible as an enforcer." Widow explained, "When I realized that you were also trying to lead a normal life, I knew it was too dangerous. Anyone who saw us together might learn of your identity, or even take you hostage, and I couldn't allow that to hinder my mission."

"But you don't worry about that with the other Avengers." Hawkeye objected.

"Have I ever told anyone outside of this mansion that I'm a member of your team?" Widow asked, "Have I ever appeared at the Avengers press meetings?"

Hawkeye didn't answer either of those questions, although the answers were obvious enough. It was making him more and more furious. When he'd worked with Widow before, she'd relied on him... depended on him. They'd been, he'd thought, wonderful partners out on the streets, and he'd even dared to hope, for a while, that they might become more than that, but suddenly, it was becoming obvious that Widow had never seen Hawkeye as anything more than backup, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he was becoming.

"When you told me that you were engineered from conception to be the word's greatest spy, I always thought it was a boast." Hawkeye said angrily, "The truth is, you can't be the world's greatest anything, because you don't even have a heart."

"Don't ask me to have a heart." Widow replied, turning on him quickly, "You don't know what kind of danger you'd be dealing with. There are more important things than one person's feelings."

"So you really only thought of me like a tool?" Hawkeye asked, becoming furious, "I was a weapon to you?"

"Don't push me, Clint!" Widow exclaimed furiously, "I'm not going to repeat myself!"

"You're just being selfish! You only care about your precious mission. You couldn't care less about the rest of..."

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash from all around the door frame on one side of the room. Even though it only entered the room through the tiny cracks around the door, it was enough to startle both arguing Avengers into silence, which was fortunate, since they might have missed the knock on the door otherwise.

Widow seemed, for the first time since Hawkeye had met her, to truly be flustered when she heard that knock, but she needed only a moment to regain her composure, before she replied to it.

"Enter."

The door opened slowly, and in stepped Doctor Strange, who looked absolutely terrified. Widow snapped to attention at once.

"There's a big problem." Strange said, peeking through the doorway with a nervous expression on his face, "I'll need to count on the Avengers to help solve it. Did anything really bad happen while I was away?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle, as a team." Widow replied curtly.

"In that case, I'll need the two of you to report to the conference room in an hour." Strange said, "That should be enough time to summon the others. I'll want to explain the situation to everyone."

Then he left, closing the door behind him, and Widow knew that something was really wrong. It wasn't just that Strange seemed afraid. Widow knew that she's lost her temper while arguing with Hawkeye, and she couldn't remember having ever lost control like that before.

* * *

Sure enough, in an hour, all available Avengers had agreed to meet in the conference room. Spider-man had prior obligations, and Namor was still busy trying to calm his people down, but everyone else was there, and after some coaxing, Namor had even agreed to participate in the meeting by video feed. A laptop was sitting on one end of the conference table, through which the Submariner's face could be seen.

For the moment, Strange had taken up a position at the head of the conference table, just to be sure that he had everyone's attention. When he spoke, he didn't dare to look directly at any one of them. In fact, for most of the time, he was either looking upward at the ceiling, or else had his eyes completely closed.

"Has anyone here been feeling a little on-edge lately?" Strange asked, "Tell me honestly."

"I have." Widow replied, "Just today, I lost control of my temper for the first time in years."

Once Widow had spoken up, others seemed to follow suit, each one admitting to something they'd said or done, that they normally wouldn't have. Only the Mole Man and Black Bolt seemed to have not suffered from that, or at least, weren't admitting to it if they had.

"Are you saying we need a vacation?" Iron Man asked, confused.

Strange, however, shook his head when he was asked that question.

"At this point, a vacation wouldn't do the trick. You see, we aren't the only ones suffering from violent, emotional outbursts. All across the world, people are arguing for no real reason, shouting at one another, destroying each other's friendships, and even getting into fights much more often than usual. Soon, I'm sure there's going to be riots in the streets, but even that danger is nothing compared to what's causing it all."

As Strange said that, the eye-shaped pendant that held his cloak in place snapped open, and an image appeared on the conference table of a man-shaped figure with a long, dark cloak, and a face that seemed to be surrounded in flames. Strange sounded more worried than ever, as he explained the figure in the image.

"This is Dormammu. Of course, this being is not human in origin. Some might call him an alien, while others would grace him with the title of daemon, but either way, he's a tremendous threat to all sentient, mortal creatures, because of his power."

As Strange spoke, the image of Dormammu changed, showing the daemon's size in comparison to the size of Strange himself. He was certainly gigantic; even bigger than Giant Man had been when he'd been alive. However, it seemed that wasn't the real nature of the threat that he posed.

"Dormammu dwells in a place known only as the Dark Dimension." Strange said, "It's an aspect of reality that exists very much alongside ours, but because that aspect is so harmful to human life, our universe has mystic barriers surrounding it, to protect us from Dormammu and others like him. However, I've seen visions of what happens when Dormammu invades a dimension. His presence is felt by intelligent species, who start bickering amongst themselves. His evil magic encourages the worst feelings of mortals, so that they turn against each other, fight each other, and eventually, outright wars erupt, until all that's left of the dimension is stained with the aftertaste of pure hate. Dormammu then starts consuming anything he can find; transforming physical mass into greater magic power for himself, and enjoying the taste of all that hatred the entire time. It's horrifying."

"You said that we're protected by barriers." Iron Man suggested uneasily, as the images faded, and Strange's eye pendant snapped shut again.

"We were, anyway." Strange replied, "I mean, the barriers are still there, but... The problem is, they're weakening, Dormammu's power is starting to slip through into our physical reality, which is why you've all been feeling so edgy lately."

"Can't you patch up the cracks somehow?" Iron Man asked, confused, "I mean, you're the only one with any skill in this kind of thing..."

"Unfortunately, the weaknesses in the barrier are due to a design flaw on the barrier's other side." Strange replied, shaking his head sadly, "I can't repair it from here."

"So you're saying" Captain America realized, "that we have to go to his world and fix the problem there."

"Yes," Strange replied, "but Dormammu is extremely powerful in the Dark Dimension. We might not survive."

No one there seemed to be thinking about it twice.

"There's one more thing to consider." Strange continued, closing his eyes again, "Obviously, while we're trying to defend ourselves in the Dark Dimension, Dormammu's power will continue to leak into our world, which means that the people of Earth will need some of us to stay behind and protect them from their own impulses. The problem is that none of you will be immune to those aggressive feelings either. You might all wind up losing your tempers and causing destruction. I can protect those who accompany me with short-range barriers of protection against Dormammu's influence, but I can't protect you all while I'm in another aspect of existence."

Black Bolt stood up just then, and everyone present knew what that meant, even before Crystal translated for him.

"Black Bolt says that his powers are too destructive to take the risk of losing control, and requests permission to join you, Doctor Strange."

"Certainly." Strange replied gravely, "I'd also like to bring along Captain America and Iron Man. The rest of you should stay here, and try to minimize the damages as much as you can under the tactical command of Widow, and if you need a second field leader; Mole Man."

However, one person sitting at that table wasn't happy with the decision. Crystal thought about Black Bolt entering the Dark Dimension, and she thought about herself losing her temper and cutting loose. At one time, she might have trusted the others to overcome her, but... but things had changed recently, and she no longer felt as if she could trust herself to be in anything less than complete control.

As the group made hurried preparations, Crystal walked quickly to where Strange was standing, and whispered "Doctor Strange. Please take me with you."

Strange looked at her curiously, as the others all left the conference room, and it was only once he and Crystal were alone, that he asked "Why?"

"I'm afraid of what might happen if I lose control of my powers." Crystal tried to explain, but Strange shook his head.

"If I understand your powers correctly, you can only use them when you have full concentration, and only for a short period of time. I don't think the other Avengers will be too badly hurt if you lose your temper with them, or even attack them, and we all know it's not your fault anyway. Besides, all of..."

"No, no, no!" Crystal exclaimed, suddenly becoming very angry, "You have to take me! Please! I can't lose control... not now."

However, that little outburst of emotion had told Strange the truth; Crystal was hiding something from him, and she wanted to keep it hidden, both from him, and from the other Avengers for some reason. She was afraid that if she lost her temper, she'd give away her secret, and then nothing would be the same again.

"You don't want people finding out about a secret you have." Strange said aloud, then as Crystal started to panic a little, he said, clearly trying to reassure her, "I don't know what that secret is, and I don't care. I'll let you come with our group to the Dark Dimension, but I think you need to reevaluate this. If you continually keep secrets from your own teammates and friends, you might wind up hurting the people you care about most."

"I'm worried it could hurt more..." Crystal said aloud, "if they knew..."

Strange didn't even bother replying to that, giving Crystal her instructions instead.

"Meet us down in Iron Man's lab in five minutes. I'll establish a world bridge there."

Then Strange disappeared in a flash of light.

* * *

Soon, the five Avengers who were going on the mission were down in the lab. Most of them just watched as Strange traced the shape of a circle on the floor with his fingers, but Captain America spoke up.

"I guess I don't understand how this is supposed to work."

"I'm creating a world bridge." Strange said as he worked, "If this is done right, it'll create a temporary point of bent reality, to enable us to cross over into his realm, and back again."

"You made Dormammu sound as if he was much better at using magic than you are." Captain America said with a smile, "But now you're about to bridge a gap he can't get through so easily. I'm impressed."

Strange, however, sighed when Captain America said that, and paused in his work for a moment.

"Power, skill, technique... in every way, Dormammu is superior to me in magic severalfold." Strange said at last, "I've sorry if I've mislead you into thinking otherwise. There's no spell I can perform that he hasn't mastered to an even greater degree."

"But then..." Captain America was suddenly confused, "Then, couldn't he just create one of these reality points for himself, and come to Earth that way."

"No." Strange replied, "World bridges don't work that way. You see, Dormammu is a conqueror and an invader. He has no fear for his own safety, so his level of reality has no barriers to protect it against invasion. The barriers that surround our reality aren't impassable, but they can only be passed freely by those who are native to our reality. If Dormammu tried to use this spell to invade our world, it wouldn't work."

"In other words, it only works for us because we're earthlings." Captain America said, trying to simplify what had just been said in his mind.

"That's basically it." Strange admitted with a brief nod, "Dormammu isn't expecting an invasion of his home dimension, because he knows that he's untouchable there. I think this attempt will catch him by surprise if we move fast, and work together. We might even succeed."

Then in a moment more, Strange had put the finishing touches on the circle, and waved his hands over it, and the sensations that those five experienced as they stepped into the circle were different from anything they'd ever felt before.

* * *

The cracks in the barrier around planet Earth must have been larger than Strange had been letting on, because it didn't take more than an hour before the reports started coming in of riots all through New York, and in several other major cities. The first decision by Widow was for Miss Marvel to drop She-Hulk around London, then rush across Asia and do as much as she could there. According to the Human Torch, the Fantastic Four were planning to help settle down the panic in several major cities in California, while Johnny Storm himself quelled large-scale violence in Las Vegas. The rest of them had to cover New York, although somehow; probably through the use of his highly-advanced technology, the Mole Man seemed to appear and disappear at various points all over the globe.

"I'm not just going to forget about what you said, you know." Hawkeye said as he and Widow soared out over New York in their fliers, "We still need to talk about the way you look at all this. I don't think anybody on this team likes being managed by someone who doesn't think they can afford to care about their fellow team members."

"We can't talk about that now." Widow just replied, struggling to keep her rising temper in check, "If this problem gets resolved, there'll be time to talk about these things, and if not... none of it'll matter anyway."

"That's the problem." Hawkeye said back, as he took aim with a sonic arrow, using it to sedate a violent mob below, "You don't think it matters at all, one way or the other. You keep trying to save people without caring too much about their lives or feelings, or worrying about your own, because you're afraid it'll make you less effective, but if you don't..."

"I said LATER!" Widow exclaimed, no longer making any effort to disguise her fury, but she quickly realized that the same thing was happening again. Each was being antagonized by the other, and they were both becoming very enraged, despite themselves.

"This mission of yours to save people from one another is never going to end." Hawkeye replied, still very angrily, "For you, there's never going to be a 'later.'"

Widow felt a near-irresistible urge to reply to that, but she didn't dare, or risk starting the chain reaction argument all over again. It wasn't just about them at that point. If they weren't careful, they'd fly as far out of control as the people down below, who they were trying to protect, and that was something that had to be avoided at all costs.

* * *

It hadn't taken She-Hulk long to get the attention of the mob fighting senselessly outside of Buckingham Palace. A single, tremendous clap of her hands had drawn all eyes in her direction, and once they were staring at her, they stayed staring. It was probably the first time her unusual size and powerful build had been useful in distracting a whole crowd of people like that. No one in London had expected to see her that day, and if not for the fact that she was still feeling very tense, in a lot of ways, the whole affair might have just made her happy.

However, suddenly, there was an enormous rumbling in the ground, then a scream from the back of the mob, and She-Hulk could see why. The rumbling had been caused by a drill-machine, identical to the one that She-Hulk had seen the Mole Man try to hold Shocker in not long ago, and the new one seemed to have emerged right in the middle of a street, releasing a small crowd of subterranean humanoids onto the surface. What was worse, they'd begun using thick coils to tie up many of the people in the crowd. As soon as she saw that, She-Hulk's temper rose to the surface. She was quite convinced, in spite of everything, that the Mole Man had betrayed them.

As the mob panicked while the subterraneans surrounded them like cattle, She-Hulk looked around for any sign of the Mole Man, and sure enough; there he was, surrounded by his people. His long, green cloak would have broadcast his position from miles away, and in just seconds, She-Hulk had leapt into the air, and landed right next to him with an enormous crash, cracking the street in several places, due to her momentum, and the force of her leap. Fortunately, though, she hadn't hurt anybody on the way down.

"What's the big idea?" She-Hulk demanded, "I had this crowd in the palm of my hand! We're not supposed to be attacking them!"

"Our task is to stop the violence, and that is what I'm doing." the Mole Man replied, looking up at her with a combination of indignation and something else that She-Hulk couldn't quite place, "These people can't be trusted to remain calm, even when it's you distracting them. Strange said that this threat will grow worse and worse," the Mole Man continued, even more irritably, "and to me, that means that these people should be taken into custody for their own protection, until the threat is past. I'm certain they'll understand the importance of this course once they've regained their senses."

"You didn't even verify this with Widow!" She-Hulk exclaimed furiously, "I had no idea you were coming here!"

"I suppose I should find that comforting..." the Mole Man muttered a little, but quickly replied, "but Iron Man said that I was to be a field commander as well."

"He said that you COULD be selected as a field commander IF we needed your help." She-Hulk objected.

"Well, you needed my help." Mole Man shot back.

"I had this whole thing under control!" She-Hulk practically roared, "You should have checked with me first!"

"You might have told me not to come!" the Mole Man blurted out furiously, not even really thinking about the words as he spoke them.

"So you would've just done what I asked?" She-Hulk scoffed sarcastically, "I mean, why? You're a king, a field commander, and a better tactician than me. Why would you have done what I said?"

"Because I cannot disobey you!" the Mole Man exclaimed, livid with rage, "I am one of the most powerful men on this planet, and when you're nearby, I have power over nothing! I am... I am..."

In that moment, the Mole Man had finally realized what he'd been saying, and his face, which had been turning purple with fury, had suddenly begun to revert to a bright red color. The cosmic fury forced upon him by the power of Dormammu had drawn the words from his mouth, but they were honest words about his real feelings, amplified by that strange, unnatural anger, and there was no taking them back.

In the past, whenever the Mole Man had been faced with a situation that couldn't be turned to his advantage, or was otherwise a lost cause, he'd tended to become angry about it very quickly, and release that anger by taking revenge upon whomever was responsible for placing him in that position. However, only three people were really responsible for what had happened to him on that day; Dormammu, She-Hulk and himself. Of those three, there was only one that he could even imagine himself taking revenge upon.

"If it takes me the rest of my life, I will butcher that Dormammu cretin for this." The Mole Man said just loud enough that She-Hulk could hear him, "I will see his head torn from his body, and whatever his race uses for blood will be... will be... I'll have his skull to adorn my underground throne."

The Mole Man didn't dare to look back at Jennifer Walters after that little outburst, but he could tell that she was still looking at him. If he'd had the courage to look back up at her again, he might have seen that she had no true anger in her eyes anymore, though she was definitely far from seeming happy with how things were going as well. In fact, the only real emotion she was registering was surprise. However, surprise hardly ever lasts very long, and when Jennifer's surprise faded, she started to wonder what to do next. There couldn't be any denying that a strong tension was still festering inside of her, and it wasn't making it easy to think straight. She wasn't sure what to do about the Mole Man, but she knew it was a choice that she didn't want to make, while under the influence of some daemon from another world.

"We can talk later." She-Hulk said, "For now, you can take over here. Just try not to be too rough on these people. They don't know what they're doing. In the meantime, I'm leaving the city, to see what I can do for a few other spots in Europe. When this is all over... When this is all over, we'll talk."

Then she was off, into the air with a powerful leap, and the Mole Man was left to his thoughts and his work, genuinely considering leaving the Avengers completely.

* * *

As reality seemed to bend and fold around him, Iron Man was afraid that he was going to die. The sensations that assaulted his senses seemed so impossible and unnatural. Iron Man felt as if he were being squashed into a depth that was paper-thin, almost to the point of nonexistence, and that depth was being replaced in his perceptions by a new kind of vision; a new kind of substance. Unfortunately, it was both a vision, and substance that felt rigid, tense, and controlling, as if all of his freedom was being taken away.

"Try to overcome the disorientation quickly." Strange said as they reappeared in what Strange had called "another aspect of reality." It definitely did feel like that. All of Iron Man's senses felt unreliable for coping with the new sensations and vastly different... Well, it was another dimension. It was nothing like the one from which Iron Man hailed, and no words created in our own aspect of reality could really do it justice.

Nevertheless, despite the unbelievably new stimuli assaulting his senses, Iron Man struggled to adapt to the world of the Dark Dimension, just as Strange had requested. It seemed obvious that Black Bolt was feeling ill. Crystal was obviously doing reasonably well at maintaining her composure, and Doctor Strange was doing better than anyone. As for Captain America, he was definitely giving it his best, but he probably wasn't having a much easier time of it than Iron Man was.

"What do you need us to do?" Iron Man asked, though his head was still swimming.

"Walk around me in a circle, facing outward." Strange replied, If you see any creatures appear, try to drive them away, or if necessary, kill them. I should be able to finish in a few minutes if you can keep the Dark Dimension's native inhabitants from interfering."

So Iron Man did just that. He couldn't quite tell whether Strange was still protecting all five of them from the power of Dormammu, because he was still feeling just as tense as he had been on Earth. Still, it was natural to feel tense when your entire world was ripped right out from under you.

As the group of four Avengers circled Strange, who seemed to be trying to focus his magic, however, Crystal noticed something that no one else would have been able to. The sounds of footsteps were coming from behind her.

"There!" Crystal exclaimed, "There's something over there. It must be invisible, though. I definitely can't see it."

"Don't let that stop you." Strange replied, "We're still seeing into this dark dimension with four-dimensional eyes, and that means that if a dark creature approaches us the right way, we won't be able to see it until it's almost on top of us."

Crystal wasn't a hundred percent sure what Strange meant by that, but she unleashed a short blast of fire towards the sound from one of her hands. Shortly, a dark purple explosion occurred at just the end of her flame blast, and when the explosion had vanished, a creature had appeared to take its place, flying backwards, away from the flame blast with a sliver-like burn along one side of its body.

The creature looked a lot like an ape, with huge arms, and long, sharp claws and fangs. It was covered in black fur, and even its skin was black, like a gorilla, but to Crystal, it looked like it could easily have been an inhuman, driven mad by Dormammu's spell, and when it got its bearings, and gave a monkey-like screech, Crystal realized that they were all in a lot more danger than Strange had told them. The creatures of Dormammu's dark dimension were obviously capable of communicating with each other, which meant that driving them off wasn't a permanent solution. It also meant that there would soon be others arriving.

Strange seemed to have realized the danger by that point, however. He was sweating hard, and struggling to keep up his chanting, which was obviously part of the spell he was trying to cast, but Crystal could see that he was deeply afraid as well, and not just of the monsters that were attacking them.

In moments, Captain America was under attack by three dark monsters, each one lashing out with their claws, but he reacted quickly, kicking one of them to the ground hard, then blocking the attacks of the other two with his shield, and retaliating with a quick charge into their midst, that sent them flying backward. By that point, they were disoriented enough, that he could have claimed victory without any additional help, but Iron Man came to his aid anyway, firing his repulsor beams at the dark creatures, and sending them flying away from the other Avengers.

However, in that moment, there was a series of sounds, like sharp hisses, and all around the Avengers, reality seemed to slide in a new direction, as if being pulled aside like a curtain. In seconds, they were surrounded, and the Avengers had a real fight on their hands.

Iron Man seemed to have arrived at the decision to fly upward, and shoot at their enemies from the air with a spray of repulsor beams and photon blasts, fired from the energy projection device attached to his armor's chest. Black Bolt, however, was holding his position on the ground, repeatedly punching anything that got too close, or was otherwise threatening. Both Captain America and Crystal soon found themselves having to fight enemies from more than one side at once, but Captain America was used to that, and Crystal wasn't. For a short while, Crystal did use her powers to create barriers around herself for her own protection, but she started to run low on power and lose focus after only a few minutes of that. It was the weakness inherent to her powers. She couldn't keep them up for very long.

Crystal backed away from her enemies as her powers started to fade, and found herself wishing that all the other Avengers would just fall asleep. She was terrified for her life, but just as terrified of revealing the truth to them. She wouldn't have revealed her secret to the others unless she absolutely needed to, in order to save them all.

However, just then, Black Bolt was standing in front of her, and slugging everything that got within a few yards of her with his powerful vibrational master blows. Nearly everything he hit that way seemed to fade from existence, or else explode backwards, away from them as Iron Man continued to pick them off in all directions from the air, just above Doctor Strange. That was when Crystal realized the truth. Her powers as an inhuman could be useful in short bursts, but for prolonged fights, she wasn't much of an Avenger. The realization added a level of depression to her terror and tension.

The fight continued for far too long, but still not long enough for Crystal to regain full use of her powers, and when, at last, the dark beasts started retreating, Crystal felt about ready to collapse from exhaustion.

"Almost finished?" she asked Strange as he remained seated on the ground.

"No." he replied, "I still need three more minutes at least, and I'm afraid I might not get them."

Crystal wasn't sure what Strange meant by that, until it occurred to her to wonder why their enemies had really fled. They clearly weren't afraid of the Avengers, or they wouldn't have fought with them for so long. There was another reason that they'd left, and it seemed that Strange had overheard her realization with his telepathy, because he said, sadly, "I'm sorry. Dormammu is here."

"You must be a skilled mage indeed to protect five people from the malice that I project." a loud, booming voice said, "But then, barriers of protection are really a simple kind of spell. No reshaping of matter is needed."

As one, the avengers looked up in fear, and there, standing over a hundred feet high, was Dormammu; his cloak concealing most of his body, but his flaming face was definitely visible for miles.

"I suppose you all came here to try to stop me from invading your world." Dormammu said, looking absolutely scornful as he spoke, "It's a hopeless cause, you know. Magic is the true power in existence, and in time, all of existence will be a part of me, and a part of magic. This attempt means nothing."

In a flash, Black Bolt was in the air, flying up towards Dormammu and preparing a master blow; the most powerful vibrational punch he could create. Dormammu seemed simply amused, until the punch connected, knocking him backwards, away from the Avengers.

However, Dormammu didn't seem to have been much injured by the blow either, and in moments, he was standing over them again, as if he'd just teleported from one part of his world to another in moments. Iron Man fired a photon blast at him from a distance, but it bent around him as it got closer to him, never touching its intended target. Then, bright lights flashed in Dormammu's eyes, and with an explosion of power, most of Iron Man's armor shattered like glass, leaving only his boots and helmet intact.

As Black Bolt flew back to Dormammu's location, he knew there was only one more thing that he could do, that would do any good, and it wasn't going to be very accurate, or very safe. Quickly, he started flying upward from Dormammu's position, carefully gauging the distance between their enemy and the ground, then the distance between himself and Dormammu, before he finally let out a light whisper.

The intense, violent vibrations released by the sound of Black Bolt's voice would have torn apart anything within range, and it seemed that even Dormammu wasn't entirely immune to such a devastating attack. Fortunately, Black Bolt had managed to rise high enough before using it, that his attack had reached Dormammu, but none of the others. The entire top half of their enemy's body seemed to be disintegrating before their very eyes, and for a moment, Strange thought in amazement that there might be a real possibility that Dormammu was dead.

However, as Black Bolt took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose, he heard a voice from above him.

"You're still trying to fight me as if I were a human. How primitive."

Then, there was another flash of light that surrounded Black Bolt, knocking him to the ground. Crystal screamed when she saw her king lying there, unconscious and helpless at the hands of the ruler of the Dark Dimension, and that was when Dormammu turned to face her, and genuinely smiled.

"Did you know" Dormammu began, "that screams of fear and pain can be wonderfully cathartic? My real intention is to change all matter into magic, and in doing so, to increase my own power, but whenever I hear the scream of some innocent person in terror or agony, it's very pleasant. In the parlance of your own world, I feel I should thank you for giving me that."

"However," Dormammu said, "I mustn't allow myself to become distracted by mere pleasantries. I should probably finish this before your magician friend can seal the cracks in the barrier of Earth."

Strange shuddered a little when Dormammu said that. The barrier that he was trying to repair was actually a network of tiny spells, each of which effected one another like links in chain mail. It had been taking him longer to repair it than he'd expected, not because of the power of the spells needed to do so, but because every time he'd repair one part of the barrier, another would come undone. Strange wasn't even certain that he could repair the barrier anymore, even if Dormammu had given up the attack.

In only a moment, the monstrous daemon pushed aside his cloak, raising one hand into the air, and his fingers started to glow.

"I'm sorry." Strange thought, though he knew the people of planet Earth wouldn't hear him, "I don't think I'm skilled enough."

* * *

Dormammu's last attack had immobilized all three of the remaining Avengers, leaving them unconscious and ready for execution. Of course, Dormammu's plan was to only really execute the mage, then absorb the remaining Avengers into himself once they'd given into their hate and fear. It would be more satisfying that way.

However, although Strange's body was unconscious, his mind wasn't. In a moment, his astral form had emerged from his body with the full intention of completing the spell if possible. Strange's astral form was a power that, in truth, he hardly ever used. It was invisible to the naked eye, and impossible to smell, hear or touch in the physical realm. In every way, it was a manifestation of Strange's mind and magic alone, and yet, it was no less real than his physical body, and Strange knew that Dormammu; whose senses stretched beyond the mere physical, would sense his astral form, which meant that he needed a quick solution if he wanted to save the planet Earth.

As Dormammu drew closer, Strange examined the links in the Earth barrier again and found, to his dismay, that they were even less functional than normal. Dormammu's attack had been like yanking someone off their feet while they'd been trying to sew, and several strands of the "cloth" that protected the Earth had been pulled out of place as a result. It all seemed so hopeless and yet... and yet...

For some reason, when he compared it to sewing, an idea came into Strange's head. He remembered long ago, seeing his father sewing up an old pair of pants, and how, in the end, it had been one final tug at the end of the last thread that had made the stitch snap into place. After all, when he'd been trying to repair the barrier before, Strange had been trying to fix it one spell at a time, each time, knocking over another one, and making the problem bigger. Maybe, he realized, it was just like dominoes, and if each spell effected the others, then one spell could, in theory, fix all the other spells it was connected to, just like electricity traveling through a series of connected circuits. He just needed to find that one spell which, if fixed, would start a chain reaction, repairing the others.

Strange searched frantically for that one key link in the chain as he felt the power of Dormammu drawing closer to him, overwhelming his own spells of protection, and his own control over his temper. At last, he felt his astral form seized by Dormammu, as if around the waist, and lifted up into the air, and from there, he heard the sound of the dark creature's disappointment.

"Powers like yours shouldn't be wasted like this. Drop your defenses willingly, and you'll become a part of me. You'll be a part of an immortal, as will all members of your race, and together, we'll benefit from the powers of one another. Aren't you the least bit tempted by that? Being eternal? Undying? Unconquerable?"

Strange, however, was only focusing on one task, and just as the aura of malevolent magic around Dormammu flared up, ready to consume him completely, his astral eyes opened wide in recognition.

"There!" he exclaimed silently, "There it is!"

A glowing half-moon shape emerged from the body of Doctor Strange, as he cast one final spell. It was a part of the mystic shield that he'd been using to protect himself and the others. It was intended to create a counter-force, to act against the malice projected by Dormammu, and because of that, it could repel malevolent magic to a small degree. Strange doubted that it would have been powerful enough to block Dormammu's next attack, but he didn't really need to block it; just change the direction of the evil magic; knock it towards one precise target.

When the glowing shield of light made contact with the magical, fiery explosion that was Dormammu's power, blinding lights were seen for the equivalent of miles in that Dark Dimension. The power of the dimension's ruler had been unleashed to perform a task, and midway to its target, had been assigned a new one. Dormammu flew into a panic, tossing Strange's astral form to one side when he saw where his latest spell of inferno was headed. In seconds more, there was another flash, then another and another in a string, and Strange smiled, as Dormammu's breathing began to quicken in fury. The plan had worked.

Dormammu's last attack had been knocked right in the direction of one loose section of the barrier surrounding Earth, and had knocked that section back into place. Then, just as Strange had planned, in a maneuver that might make a professional chess champion envious, that section's motion had knocked five others into place, then twenty from there, then a hundred. In seconds, the entire barrier surrounding the Earth had been reconstructed and repaired, and it shone more brightly than ever, thanks to the fact that its power source was one of the mightiest daemons in existence.

Dormammu was furious with the turn that events had taken. He'd spent his entire existence drowning himself in magical power by absorbing all matter, and all negative feelings, and the more powerful he'd grown, the easier he'd found it to invade additional levels of existence. The Earth had seemed like such a simple prize by comparison to some of the plains of existence that he'd already conquered, and yet, he suddenly found that the barrier surrounding the Earth had been reinforced with, and linked directly to the level and type of his own magic. Not only was the barrier repaired, but it was just as strong as he was, and if he grew stronger, so would the barrier. It was the worse possible eventuality for him.

"You miserable little insects!" Dormammu roared, but Strange's astral form had already begun to cast a new spell, and in moments, both he and the other Avengers, who'd arrived in the Dark Dimension with him, had vanished from it completely to return to their own plain of existence. In the depths of that place, finally blocked from getting what he wanted for the first time in as long as he could remember, Dormammu let out a sense-shattering wail of despair.

* * *

It took only five seconds for the Avengers to make their return trip to Earth, although it took more like ten hours before all of them were conscious again, and fifteen more before Iron Man claimed to be ready for active duty. Strange, for the most part, had recovered from the ordeal the fastest. He'd been dealing with large-scale magical threats to the universe since well before he'd joined the Avengers.

Within eight hours of arriving back on Earth, Strange was sitting in his office in the Avenger's mansion, finishing another communication with Namor.

"That's about the time the unrest started fading away." Namor noted after Strange had brought up their victory over Dormammu, "It seems you've done us all a rather large favor, Doctor, and validated my decision to join the Avengers. I'm sorry I wasn't more helpful to you."

"If not for you, the Atlanteans might have gone to war today." Strange replied, "I'd call that helping."

"Perhaps." Namor replied after a moment, though it was clear that he was having some difficulty weighing his duties as both warrior and prince evenly, "If things stay the way they are now, I should be able to answer the summons of the Avengers upon the emergence of any new threats."

"Thank you, Submariner." Strange replied, shutting down the video feed. He was still tired, drained and unsure of how the others would react to what had happened that day, but if nothing else, the Avengers had claimed victory when even he had thought that victory was impossible. It made him feel a little better about himself, and reminded him of the old one's first description of him.

"One who might exceed even Doom in power, and who vastly exceeds Mordo in innate talent; a man with a magic within him so strong that I can see it sparkling every time I look into his eyes."

Strange smiled a tired smile as he realized just what the Old One had meant when he'd spoken of Strange's "talent in magic" with such awe. Maybe, he thought, what had happened that day was the real measure of his talent. Even when faced with monstrous odds against beings hundreds of times more powerful than himself, he'd found a path to victory through skill and ingenuity. It was what talent really was, and it was a comforting thought.

With no further urgent threats demanding his attention, Strange sat down on the floor of his office, and slowly rose into the air in meditation as he worked to regain the magic power that he'd spent in the Dark Dimension.

* * *

Widow heard a knock on her door, as she continued her research at her computer, but she knew who was on the other side, so for the moment, she turned off the computer screen, and turned on the lights in her room, saying "Enter."

As Hawkeye stepped into her room, he took a careful look around, feeling especially worried once he discovered that Widow was just standing and looking at him with a frigid expression on her face. She looked just like the excessive professional she was; concerned, but unfeeling.

"I was wrong to say those things to you." Hawkeye said after only a few seconds, though his voice was nervous and trembling as the words emerged from his lips, "You have the right to live your life your way. It wasn't my place to come down on you for that."

"Then why did you?" Widow asked, her expression unchanging, "It wasn't just the temper aura. There was something more."

Hawkeye looked away for a moment, and when he replied, he did so without looking at Widow.

"It's because when we first met, you were the most amazing woman I'd ever known. The way I felt about you... I never felt that way about anyone else, before or since then. The whole time we worked together, I kept hoping that maybe you'd turn out to be human, and we could become friends, or even... Even very good friends."

Hawkeye dared not say any more about it, but Widow understood what he'd meant from a mile away. She was very quick at picking up on things like that.

"I never did anything to encourage you." Widow said, but Hawkeye blurted out a reply to that very quickly.

"You never showed me any emotion, Natalia, and you never told me anything specific about yourself, or your past. If I'd thought that you were unable to feel emotions, I'd have felt differently, but I kept thinking that you were a human being, just like me, and you were sitting on your feelings because you were afraid of being hurt. Whether you knew it or not," Hawkeye concluded at last, "that made my feelings for you even stronger, because I felt sorry for you, and I wanted to make you feel happy."

Natalia listened through the entire statement, before giving him a short, gracious nod.

"You're right about one thing." Natalia said, "It wouldn't have hurt anyone if I'd told you who and what I really was. I suppose I just never took the time to bother. Maybe that was a mistake. Sometimes I forget that other people feel tender emotions more intensely than I do. I apologize if I made you suffer. It wasn't my intention."

"Still," Widow continued, "if it's not too late, I could tell you the story of my origins. It's not a pleasant story, but it might help you to understand me."

Hawkeye nodded quickly, so Widow started to explain herself.

* * *

As I'm sure you're aware, I was Russian-born. I was conceived during the time of the late Soviet Union, when the scientists of my country were still struggling to claim victory in the cold war by whatever means was necessary. They had entire departments devoted to understanding the mysteries of the human mind and body, and unlocking their full potential. In short, they wanted to create a super-soldier like Captain America, only better.

Their first attempts all perished. There was no excusing that. The only reason it happened was because they were overeager, and took too many risks. I've looked over their research many times and if they'd just been a little more patient and cool-headed about the work, they could have gotten it done almost a year earlier and no one would have died.

In the end, though, their experiments achieved fruition, and a dozen super-people were created. Each one, the scientists said, would grow up with a mentality of business and professionalism first, even to the point of death. Each would absorb new information and skills in the blink of an eye, and have an extremely easy time keeping in good shape, and each one would... Would possess an unnatural lifespan, remaining at the age of twenty-three for an unknown number of years after reaching it naturally.

I was planted as just a single cell with altered genes into the womb of... a young woman who was my biological mother. My base genetic code had been constructed from hers and her husbands, then altered just enough for the intended purpose. It would take years before I was ready to begin active duty, of course. Still, they reasoned, if I was as skilled and powerful as they'd intended, then I could be an effective agent as an adult, even if things had gotten terrible by then.

Of course, they didn't count on the project being sabotaged. Of the first dozen planned super-agents, eight were killed by enemy agents before they could even be born. The ninth was born, but encountered an enemy agent shortly after that. Somehow, though, the ninth experiment didn't die. Apparently, by that point, the enemy had found some way of removing the altered genetic code from a person's body. They haven't used that method since then, but the ninth experiment apparently became just an ordinary person, with no interest in research, spy work, or military tactics.

Aside from myself, there were two others, but I'm not sure what happened to them. I was the only one who the government was able to keep track of into adulthood.

However, by the time I was an adult, the government had changed from what it once was; communism was all but dead in that part of the world, and the Russian business-first mentality rang hollow without it. Of course, people still worked hard to survive. I think that's going to be the case as long as there are people. However, instead of working hard for a single leader or council, they had to work hard for whoever had the most money, made even worse by the fact that acquiring that kind of money was a matter of manipulation and deceit, more than hard work and trust. Things are no different in America in that respect, but at least in America, people seem to let themselves feel real joy and good humor, even on the job. I can't understand it, but I like seeing it. Immigrating to your country was the choice in my life that I regret the least.

Of course, I initially came to America because I liked seeing people happy and lighthearted, but that doesn't mean that I am such a person. My government chose to disguise the names and identities of everyone I knew when I was younger for my protection, but even if they hadn't, I don't think I could really have gotten close to anyone; not even my parents. I just couldn't think that way. I've never felt that I could really trust anyone, and I've always insisted on being in complete control of any situation I get involved in; especially the dangerous ones. Beyond that, I really do want to help protect people from one another. I guess that proves the experiment was a success. Everything I am commands me to work towards solving the problems that cause war, hate and death, but if I ever succeeded; if real peace ever came about, I don't know if I could survive in that kind of world.

I was designed by scientists to be the ultimate super-soldier; seeing the world in feats, orders and missions, so that's how I do things. However, because I see things that way, I need a mission to complete. It's as necessary as eating or breathing to me. I need a mission to devote my full power to, so I might as well pick the most necessary and impossible mission of all. My mission is to help stop evil men and women from harming or corrupting the innocent. As long as I have that mission, I'm not filled with doubts in my own self-worth, and I can continue to feel as if I have a purpose in my life, which I'm continuing to work towards.

* * *

"Doubts in your own self worth?" Hawkeye asked, confused, "Why would you have that?"

"It's in my genes." Widow replied stiffly, "Whenever I'm not working towards the completion of my mission, I'm wracked with feelings of personal and moral inadequacy, more terrible than anything I've ever felt."

"And when other people tell you not to worry about it?" Hawkeye asked.

"Their words sound hollow and wooden." Widow said, "They can't know how it feels. No one can. I fear laziness, inaction, and conformity, because those things accomplish no proactive mission. What about you? Are you able to stop yourself from feeling miserable on command?"

Hawkeye just looked at her blankly when she asked him that.

"Then you don't even care about having friends." Hawkeye muttered, "I was afraid of that."

However, just as he was about to leave, he heard Widow say "No."

"No?" Hawkeye asked.

"Having friends does make a difference to me." Widow said at last, "There's a difference in the way I feel when those who care about me are nearby. Unfortunately, it's not an enormous, emotional difference, and it doesn't block out the guilt of inaction, but... It would be going too far to say that I have no appreciation for friendship. In fact, I should thank you for offering that. However, you need to understand that my mission is more important to me than my life. I can't jeopardize it for anyone or anything. I can't compromise in it, and I can't apologize for it. I'm sorry if that hurts you."

Then, as Hawkeye opened the doorway out, he muttered the words "Not as much as I thought it would."

Then he was gone; the door closing behind him, and in just another moment, Widow was back at her computer, continuing her research.

* * *

"Captain! Captain America!"

Cap heard the voice calling to him as he walked through the hallways of the Avengers Mansion and slowed down to let Crystal catch up with him. He gave her a smile as she approached.

"Something I can help you with?" Cap asked, but when he looked into Crystal's face, there was something there that worried him. She looked as if she were both exhausted, and trying her best to keep a secret from everyone else. Cap had seen that look before, in a few soldiers who'd later turned traitor during the war. He'd just have to hope that wasn't the case with Crystal, though his smile dropped when he saw her expression.

"I..." Crystal said, looking away for a moment, "I'm not much of an Avenger, am I?"

"You're one of us, and you've helped us out a lot lately." Cap replied, "It doesn't matter how much power you have. What really matters is the will to do what's right, and you've got that in spades."

"I... I don't think I do." Crystal muttered sadly, "I just... I want people to like me. I don't want to scare anyone, and that's why I... I can't..."

It looked, for a moment, as if Crystal was about to reveal her secret to Cap, but in a moment more, she swallowed hard, and tried to look him in the eyes again.

"I'm sorry." she said at last, forcing her secret back down where she wanted it to go, "That wasn't what I wanted to talk about. I just... We've been on missions together recently, and both times, my powers gave out and... and I was helpless. I don't want to be a burden on you and the rest of the team."

"What are you saying?" Captain America asked, not sure where Crystal was going with that line of conversation.

"I'm saying that... If you have some time..." Crystal said, "I'd... like to learn to fight. I mean without my powers. Would it be alright if...? I mean, would you consider...?"

"Yes." Captain America replied with a smile, "I'll teach you to fight, Crystal, if you're sure that's what you really want."

"Thank you." Crystal replied, grinning. With luck, she really could be a helpful member of the Avengers, and as for her secret... Well, she might be able to keep it a secret after all.

* * *

The Mole Man had needed to wrestle with his own self control for several hours after the effects of the temper aura had worn off, before he'd managed to convince himself to return to the Avengers Mansion and confront his problem head-on. Even despite ruling much of the inside of planet Earth, he was afraid, and it was only once he'd exclaimed aloud "Dammit! You're one of the most powerful rulers on Earth! Face this like a man!" that he'd found the courage to return to the home base of the team of champions that he'd joined.

Upon arriving at the mansion, the Mole Man had stepped through the main entryway, and the conference hall into the main hallway, then from there into an adjoining hallway. The hallway led to the room he'd been offered, and which he visited on occasion to think and make plans. However, something was different about the room when he opened the door. A single lamp, dim, but still brighter than he liked, had been placed on the table in the room's center, and two chairs had been pulled up to it; one about three-inches shorter than a typical chair, and the other made of titanium steel. In the second chair was the person he needed to speak with; Jennifer Walters.

Taking his cue, the Mole Man climbed onto the smaller chair, and looked across the table at Miss Walters. Even when seated, he realized in some slight feeling of intimidation, but mostly fascination, that she was still bigger than him. One way or another, he was always going to be looking up at her.

"I guess I sort of suspected ever since that first day..." Jennifer said, grinning a little, "I should probably feel flattered. I mean, you're a king, and I'm just an attorney."

"I won't insult you by asking you to believe that the feelings I showed you under Dormammu's influence were his, and not mine." the Mole Man said, "However, you must know that all of this is too uncomfortable for me, and since, as you've mentioned, I am a king, I... I hate this. It's so hard. I'm miserable and nervous, and I feel like..."

"Nervous?" She-Hulk asked, confused, "I mean, couldn't you just make some kind of underground beastie swallow this whole building if you wanted to?"

"No." the Mole Man replied, "I couldn't. You are in it."

"So you really do care about me." She-Hulk realized aloud.

The Mole Man looked at the floor when she said that. It was the closest thing to a "yes" that he was likely to give.

The Mole Man's heart raced as he sat there, just sensing the shape of her face, body and eyes. His heartbeat seemed to go faster and faster, the longer he sat there, and at last, after almost a minute spent in silence, he knew he had to speak.

"So what's next?" the Mole Man asked, "Now that you know how I feel..."

"See, I guess I'm not sure how you feel." Jennifer said, her grin fading, "I mean, you care about me, but you never said anything..."

"I couldn't." replied the Mole Man irritably, "I couldn't, because I knew what would happen. I knew that once you knew the truth, it would make it several times harder for me to be around you. There's a tension now between us that wasn't there before. For me, the ability to disguise my feelings behind a mask of professionalism came naturally, as a defense mechanism. When I lived in the world of man, I suffered countless lost jobs, missed opportunities for friendships, and needless rejections for even the most casual relationships from members of the opposite sex, and it didn't take me long to realize that my only possible life lay apart from mankind. Since that day, I've kept all of my emotions out of my actions, to keep myself from the inevitable pain of all interpersonal conduct, even after I became king of the subterraneans. Half of the reason why I worked so well with them, was their total lack of pride. Not one of them even considered feeling superior to any other one, and they had no desire to one-up each other. It was the other reason why a central organizing factor was needed in their lives. It was why my intelligence and drive was such a helpful ingredient to their society, and when they realized how helpful I was, they embraced my skill and talent. That was how I became their king. Because of my professional attitude, and tactical genius, I've been king since then. The subterraneans don't judge people by appearance, as humans do. However, my time spent among them hasn't made me forget what humans are like. I've long since come to grips with the fact that I will never truly find acceptance, much less love among other human beings. Because of that, all of the feelings of attraction and care for others that I have need to remain hidden, and would be better forgotten. Your presence in the field doesn't distract me too much, but nervousness; uncertainty... That's another matter entirely. That I can't afford. Because of that, I must ask you right now to tell me that you could never reciprocate my feelings. If you do that, the uncertainty will vanish, and I'll be in my element again. Please don't try to cheer me up. I'm a lost cause in that respect."

"I..." She-Hulk muttered sadly as she looked at him. There was great sadness in her eyes as she spoke again, just a moment later, but the answer wasn't what the Mole Man had been expecting, or indeed, hoping for.

"I'm sorry if you don't want me to care about you." she said, "You must have had a terrible life to be so embittered to simple compassion."

"You can't know." the Mole Man replied, seeming genuinely sad as well for a moment, rather than merely grouchy, as he usually appeared.

"I don't know you very well..." She-Hulk admitted, shrugging a little after a few seconds, "You seem very scarred and afraid, but you were brave enough to come here and tell me this. Part of me wants to comfort you in your sorrow, because I do feel sorry for you, almost as if you were a small child, who was crying after surviving a car crash. But... you're not a child, are you?"

"No." the Mole Man replied, "I'm a great deal older than you are."

"I don't know you well at all." She-Hulk repeated, looking a little nervous as she spoke, "I mean, I'm sure I don't know enough about you to consider any kind of relationship with you, but as for caring about what happens to you... I'm sorry. I can't help it. I do. You're not Hollywood pretty, Mole Man, but you don't repulse me either. You're a human being, and I care about you. I'm not really attracted to you, but... but it makes me so sad to think of you going back to your life, still expecting everyone to hate you and revile you. You need someone to tell you... show you that there are people who care about you, no matter what you look like."

The Mole Man swallowed hard when she said that, then started to become angry again, exclaiming "You're not listening to me! Don't try to make me feel better! You're only making me feel worse! Tell me that..."

However, just then, She-Hulk had pushed the table to one side of the room, and seized the Mole Man in her left arm. He froze in place when she did that, and descended on him like an owl, embracing him with both arms as she rested her head on his shoulder, and put his head on hers. At first, he felt furious at being so rashly disobeyed, then he felt weakness inside of himself, then desperation and fear again, but in the last second, when he felt spots of moisture forming on the cloth that covered his shoulder, he gave in completely, and from his small, less-functional, underdeveloped eyes, there came a single, nearly-invisible tear.

"I'm... I'm sorry." She-Hulk said, dropping the Mole Man to the ground a bit roughly, and looking both nervous and miserably sad as she rushed for the door, "I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

Then, her eyes full of tears for the poor fellow she'd had in her arms mere moments before, She-Hulk left the room, and charged down the hallway, her feelings a jumbled mess.

As for the Mole Man, it was the second moment of devastating emotional weakness that he'd felt that day, and he was furious over that weakness. Still, he couldn't bring himself to wish that that moment had never happened; that moment in which, for the first time, he'd shared his sorrow with someone he cared for.

* * *

End


	18. Issue 18: Press

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 18

"Press"

* * *

Carol Danvers sat alone in New York City's biggest library, reading over the proper pronunciations of foreign language words, written out in English phonetics. Before being transformed by the terragen mists, she'd been in more than one war, mainly as an airplane pilot. Even so, she'd taken the trouble of learning a few other languages in her spare time, to help her get the idea of the places she was going to.

Of course, it helped that she'd had a whole lifetime to learn those things in. Somehow, when the terragen mists had given her the incredible powers of Miss Marvel, Carol had also lost about forty years worth of wrinkles and gray hair, and the expert pilot for the US government who'd been forging past the sixty-year mark suddenly found that she looked more like a girl of just over twenty. It was possible that the mists were continuing to rejuvenate her cells, similar to what water did for Namor, in which case, she might even be in her prime for whole centuries, but even if that wasn't the case, they'd at least given her part of her life to live over, and with the increased speed that she had at her disposal, she could get a lot more done in between emergencies.

She'd just finished mastering Hungarian, Swahili, Finnish, and was very close to figuring out conversational Japanese. She had the vocabulary down, although she was having a little trouble with the usage of the honorifics inherent to that language. German, she found, had been a much easier language to learn. So had Russian and French for that matter. For some reason, Carol wasn't having any difficulty remembering the various languages, and keeping them all separate from one another in her mind, though she suspected that the ability to remember things that distinctly and well might just be one of her special powers. Carol's trips around the world, to attempt to calm the panic over the recent near-invasion of Earth by Dormammu had been her primary reason for engaging in linguistic study, however. Otherwise, it might never have occurred to her.

Of course, since she really was having such an easy time remembering things, Carol decided that, at least for a few weeks, it might be a good idea for Miss Marvel to drop under the radar, and start absorbing as much written knowledge as she could. She was still new to the whole super-hero business, but since she had the opportunity, it only seemed right that she should try to learn as much about the world and its people as possible. She was, after all, going to be needed to protect them, especially if any more big threats like Dormammu showed up.

Naturally, not all threats were so big, but many were still far too big for ordinary humans to react to on their own. As much as Carol wished she could just sit back, study, and prepare for bigger problems, sometimes immediate action was needed. Soon, she could feel a vibration coming from the Avengers communicator in her pocket, and hurried to put all the books back in place in the blink of an eye, then left through the front doors, too fast to be seen by other human beings, until she got to a deserted back alley. There, she pulled the communicator out of her pocket, and held it up to one of her ears.

"Something wrong?"

The voice on the other end, however, was the Mole Man; one of he people she'd been least expecting to hear from.

"There's the sound of something on fire, plummeting very fast towards Manhattan's east side. I can smell the melting steel from here."

He certainly hadn't wasted any words, and wasn't expecting a response. In a flash, Carol Danvers had removed the thick, cloth bag from her back, and a split second later, Miss Marvel was soaring up through the atmosphere, faster than any supersonic aircraft.

In seconds, the people, cars, and buildings of New York had fallen away underneath her, as she charged up into the sky, and there, she saw the source of the Mole Man's worry; a large, falling object in flames. It was apparently some kind of satellite, that had fallen from orbit, or else some part of a former satellite, whose orbit had decayed. Either way, it was a massive danger to the people below, and it had to be stopped somehow.

Miss Marvel's approach took her just underneath the falling debris, where she descended rapidly, keeping pace with the plummeting object, and clapped her hands hard. The falling machine had been surrounded in flames up to that point, but the blast of force created by the powerful impact of Miss Marvel's hands with one another had slowed the satellite's descent for a moment, causing the flames to sweep around to the sides, shrinking in size and intensity. The Satellite was still red-hot, and melting at the edges, but at least the flames surrounding it were smaller by that point. Quickly, Miss Marvel approached the satellite from below, and grabbed its red-hot hull with both hands. Her gloves were burnt to cinders in a fraction of a second, but she herself seemed to be alright. The real question was whether she could stop the satellite's descent effectively.

Quickly, Miss Marvel slowed her downward progression through the air, coming to a complete stop as she held onto the satellite. It was heavy, but she maintained her hold on its hull fairly easily.

However, as she held the red-hot metal in her hands, Carol heard the sound of crunching and twisting, and looked up to discover, to her dismay, that she'd stopped the satellite too quickly in mid-air. It was tearing itself apart around her; falling to pieces in her hands, and many of those pieces were still larger than most cars. From the start, the falling satellite had been a problem, but she'd turned it into a catastrophe.

"I... I messed up..." she thought in horror, as the debris fell almost sideways from her position, but she knew she couldn't just give up. If she didn't hurry up and fix the problem she'd helped create, lots of people could die.

Of course, the question of how exactly to fix the problem without making it even worse was a difficult one to answer. She'd have to practice catching falling objects later on, to see if she could get it just right, but in the meantime, she had to do what she could in that particular crisis.

Using every ounce of her unnatural speed, Miss Marvel released the piece of debris she'd been holding, and seized another, slugging it hard, back in the direction of the first. That seemed to work pretty well for the moment, causing the pieces to gravitate closer together, so she did the same thing with the other pieces, driving them all back into one another. At last, she had them all gathered into one large, loosely-packed ball, within about three seconds, but the entire thing was still headed downward towards New York, which meant that she needed to redirect the course of the object somehow, and it was only just then that she got an idea on how she might do that.

Quickly, Miss Marvel circled around the rapidly-falling ball of glass, metal and plastic; zipping around it dozens of times per second, as it neared the ground. People down below had started to look up at it in fear, as she spun her hands rapidly against the damaged satellite, creating a wind cushion around it, and slowing its descent. At last, when it was only a dozen or so yards from the ground, the ball's descent had slowed so much, that Miss Marvel knew she could handle the situation. Quickly, she used the artificial wind-currents she'd created to move the ball of debris through the air, towards the docks, where she let it fall into the water, hoping that no ships would crash into it, as it made its descent to the bottom of the ocean shelf.

Once the ball of debris was dealt with, Miss Marvel slowed down, almost gasping for breath. She was tired, worn-out, and her gloves were gone, but she was uninjured, and she'd saved all those people. If something like that ever happened again, she'd know more about how to deal with it, although she hoped that...

Just then, however, she heard voices from the docks exclaiming "Look! There she is! It's Miss Marvel!"

The voices interrupted her train of thought badly, but she didn't find them unpleasant, really. In fact, she sort of hoped that the owners of those voices wouldn't go away.

Miss Marvel flew to the docks in a flash, and found a burn treatment station, quickly washing her hands with it. As expected, there was a sharp sizzling sound, and steam rose from her hands when she covered them with cold water. Admittedly, the heat left on her hands after touching all of that molten metal wouldn't have done much to hurt her, but if she tried to shake anyone's hand like that, they were in for a few nasty surprises. When she'd finished cooling her hands down to her satisfaction, Miss Marvel waved them rapidly to dry them off, then flew over to where the crowd was gathering by the docks.

"Hello. Oh, you're welcome. I'm sorry. Please keep your distance. Thank you."

Miss Marvel was surrounded by microphones in seconds after she waded through the crowd of grateful citizens. Obviously, the reporters in New York were still doing their jobs, although Miss Marvel had had some reason to dislike the press recently. Virtually every time she picked up an issue of the Daily Bugle, there was some kind of trash on the front page, questioning the heroism or morality of one or more members of the Avengers. It had really bothered her, until she'd talked to Spider-man about it one day.

* * *

"The Bugle, huh?" he asked, sounding amused, "Don't let it bug you."

"But people read the Bugle." Miss Marvel said, "I mean, if they keep reading that kind of nonsense about us, eventually they'll hate us, in spite of everything we do for them."

"There are a few like that." Spider-man replied, "I used to know the Bugle's editor, you know. His name's Jameson. He's an abusive moron with some kind of personal vendetta against all superhumans who claim to be heroes. I'm still not sure why that is."

"So what do we do?" Miss Marvel asked, not sure what kind of point Spider-man was trying to make.

"I guess what I'm saying is that since we live in America, people have the freedom to say whatever they want about us," Spider-man had explained, "The freedom of the press is a fundamental civil right. When I first met Jameson, I assumed that guys like him were the only kind of people in the world. I knew he was horrible, but I assumed that there wasn't a better way. I was wrong about that, though. Jameson is just one guy with an opinion based on hate, and when you get down to it, that gets old. If we tried to silence him, we'd only be proving his point. The best thing we can do is to fight him in our own way, by doing as much good as we can, and hoping that people get the hint."

* * *

Of course, Spider-man's plan of action had sounded a little lazy when Miss Marvel had first heard it. Hoping that people get the hint was all well and good, but it didn't change the fact that someone who hated them all was sending out a message against them, and there wasn't any counter-message. Though the Avengers had held press conferences before, to discuss emergencies recently averted, and what they planned to do next, they'd never really had much of a voice in the press, because everyone saw Doctor Strange as the head of the Avengers, and he was something of a recluse. It was a shame, of course, but more than that, it was a need that had to be filled. People needed a dramatic, inspiring figure to make them aware of what the Avengers were all about, and what super heroes were all about in general. Then and there, Miss Marvel decided that she would do her best to fill that need, as the reporters surrounded her, asking her rapid questions.

"Miss Marvel, why do you wear a mask?"

"Masks are in this year." she replied with a grin, drawing several chuckles from those gathered.

"How strong are you, exactly?"

"I'd compare myself to Ben Grimm."

"Miss Marvel, is saving people all you ever do?"

"No. No, it's not." Miss Marvel replied quickly, "I do a lot of studying in my spare time."

"Why did you decide to join the Avengers?"

"Well, a friend asked me to join. I thought it'd be a good opportunity."

"What do you care about most?"

"I'd say stopping people from murdering one another is my primary concern. People should have the courage to be honest about what murder is, and should be able to recognize that it isn't right, no matter what, unless that other person killed you first."

More chuckles occurred a moment later.

"If you had to sum up your intended mission in just a few words, what would you say?"

It was Miss Marvel's big chance to speak. It was her chance to give the media something catchy to remember her by; to remember superhumans by.

"Peace, goodwill, justice, and the protection of all life." Miss Marvel said at last, "I don't want anyone to die before their time. People deserve a second chance; a way to make amends. I'll stop anyone who tries to squash justice and peace, and I'll give them that chance to redeem themselves, because I'm not going to kill. Many people deserve to die, but no one deserves to murder."

* * *

"Peace, goodwill, justice, and the protection of all life."

The word spread through the city, day after day, and week after week, as Miss Marvel continued to avert disasters, and save lives. When she wasn't doing that, she was either studying, or working to bring criminals to justice. It was a very busy kind of life, but it was also very rewarding.

The whole time that Miss Marvel engaged in her efforts on behalf of the public, she never once looked at a newspaper or television; and never bothered herself with how others were thinking of her. It felt fantastic to really and truly be doing her best for the people of the human race. Regularly, she'd travel to other spots in the globe, averting big disasters, or breaking up drug syndicates in other states, or even other countries, but people generally recognized that New York City was her "home base." Some felt alienated by that, but many also seemed to be proud of her. In fact, the name "favorite daughter of NY" came up in only a short time, although Carol did nothing to encourage it. After all, she'd never really lived in New York until recently, as a member of the Avengers. Admittedly, though, she didn't do much to clarify things with the public either.

Finally, just over a month after her first miniature interview with the press, Miss Marvel was reading in the Avengers mansion, when suddenly, Tony Stark himself was standing there, holding a check in one hand. Carol had never seen Tony set foot in the Avengers' Mansion before. Usually, he just worked with them by using Iron Man as an intermediary.

"I hope you won't be too upset with me for what I did." Tony said as he handed her a check for a very large sum, with the "pay to the order of" field blank.

"What... What's this for?" Miss Marvel asked, confused.

"Well, it's just that you've been making it into the news so much lately..." Tony said nervously, "I thought people might like some merchandise, so I started selling black shirts with yellow lightning bolts on them."

"What?" Miss Marvel asked, flabbergasted. In response, Tony moved into the next room for a moment, and emerged with what looked a lot like a Miss Marvel t-shirt. The symbol on its front definitely resembled the one on her own costume, and yet, it wasn't copyright infringement in any capacity. Miss Marvel felt a lot of strange feelings about that t-shirt, although most of them were probably pretty silly.

"Honestly, I wasn't sure when I should bring it up to you, but they've been selling like mad." Stark explained, looking a little nervous as he spoke, "It just kind of seems wrong that you shouldn't see any money from this."

Carol was still incredibly stunned as she put down the book she'd been reading, and sat back in her chair. Tony hadn't really done anything that bad; he just wanted to cash in on a trend, like anybody. Of course, there was a risk that the merchandising could damage her reputation if it got too far out of hand, so she got to her feet and seized the check from Tony's hands, speaking very slowly, and choosing her words carefully.

"Listen Mister Stark. I'm not in this business to make money. If you feel you want to give me this money just as a gift, I'll accept it, and I also won't try to interfere with your sales department, but there's one thing I never want to hear your salesmen saying. I never want to hear them saying that these products are endorsed by Miss Marvel herself. I'll tolerate the fact that you're cashing in on my image because I'm a good sport," Miss Marvel finished, "but I'm no sell-out, and I won't do endorsement deals. Understood?"

"Completely." Tony replied, his expression quickly mutating into a smile, "Actually, that's a much better reaction than I was expecting."

Quickly, Tony folded the sample t-shirt under one arm, and headed for the room's exit, but just as he neared the door, he remembered something important, and turned back to face her one more time.

"Also, the mayor isn't sure how to contact you, so he called the mansion's main phone. I think he wants to talk to you about something."

That information surprised Miss Marvel a little, but she remained standing, as she considered it. She'd never talked to the mayor before.

* * *

As the mayor managed to wrench himself loose from another meeting, he gave his watch a glance. It had been a couple of hours since he'd made his call to the Avengers Mansion, and he'd kept hoping that New York's champion would show up. Maybe he was worrying for nothing, and she was just afraid that he was trying to draw her into the world of politics, but truthfully, he had nothing but respect for the work she'd done. There were just a few things he wanted to know.

As the door closed behind the group of officials he'd just finished meeting with, the mayor sighed. It was going to be hard waiting, and never knowing if she'd actually arrive or not.

A moment later, the mayor turned away from the door, and found himself staring right at Miss Marvel's mask. He screamed in surprise, jumping back away from her. She looked a little sad when he did that, because a moment later, three security people had burst into the office with their weapons raised, but the mayor calmed them down quickly, even as he himself calmed down by waving his hands to them; signaling them to lower their weapons.

"No problem here, boys. No problem. Sorry. I just got a little startled. You might want to step outside for a moment. I need to talk to Miss Marvel here alone."

Soon, the security people, none of whom seemed completely satisfied, had left the room again, and the doors behind them were closed, leaving Miss Marvel alone with the mayor. The mayor was amazed to see that when she walked, her feet never quite touched down on the floor of his office, though whether that was intended as paranoia, disgust, or whether she was just showing off, he couldn't tell.

Soon, the Mayor had pulled a chair up to his desk, inviting her to sit in it, which she seemed to do, though she might have been floating a short distance above the actual seat, for all he knew. He, in turn, sat behind his desk, trying to put on his best smile for her.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to see me so soon. I'm grateful. I'd like to start this off by saying that. Still, you could work on making a better first impression."

"Yes." Miss Marvel replied sadly, "I'm still working on that."

"Now, I don't want to scare you off or anything..." the mayor said sadly, "but I'd really like to know how you lean in terms of politics. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, of course..."

"I'm an independent." Miss Marvel replied quickly, "I lean to the right on most hot button issues, but not all of them. I'm pretty far left when it comes to both wars and the death penalty. In short, I have my own political views, and they aren't defined by any specific party. They're defined by the fact that I believe in preserving all life. I believe in second chances."

"So you'd overturn Roe V. Wade if you could." the mayor assumed, and to his surprise, Miss Marvel showed no hesitation in her reply.

"In a heartbeat, but I'm not in politics, so that's not my call. Is any of this really that important?"

The mayor seemed to think about it for a few moments, but soon, he shook his head, dispelling the thoughts of doubt and worry from his mind.

"I guess I was expecting you to be less reasonable than that. I mean, the Bugle makes you sound like such a forceful glory-seeker."

"Well, you can't believe everything you read." Miss Marvel replied with a nervous grin.

"No, I suppose not." the mayor said, smiling at last, "Miss Marvel, there are guys in the government who wouldn't want me to do this, because you don't agree with their political agenda. The president, for example, doesn't agree with you, and neither do either of New York's senators. I don't think I really agree with all of your views, come to think of it, but you deserve better than to be dismissed just based on that."

After a statement like that, Carol wasn't sure what to expect, but soon, the mayor had produced a manila folder, and a small, black box from inside of his desk, and handed her the folder first.

When Miss Marvel opened the folder, she was amazed by its contents. It read "Report on activity by Miss Marvel." It started with a report on a drug ring she'd curtailed in the northern sections of New York, then a few reports on notable crooks she'd brought to justice, the time she'd blunted an Earthquake in California, saving thousands of lives, the towns in Hawaii that she'd saved by digging new channels for magma to flow into during a volcanic eruption, the incident with the Satellite, the African Tsunami she'd prevented... It was all in that folder. Carol wasn't sure how to feel about that.

"Is this a warning, or a compliment?" Miss Marvel asked as she put the folder down.

"Neither one." the mayor replied, "It's an honor. It's to let you know that the things you've done for us haven't gone unnoticed. We see and appreciate your effort."

Miss Marvel tried to appear honored, but she really wasn't feeling honored at all. In fact, the situation felt somewhat intrusive, until the mayor opened the black box, and removed what was inside.

Miss Marvel's mouth hung open as the mayor handed her a medal, shaped like the red, white, and blue, disc-shaped shield of Captain America, complete with the star in the center. Quickly, she grabbed it, and turned it over to see, on the other side, that there was an inscription there.

"This Star Shield Medal of Honor is awarded to the woman operating under the identity of Miss Marvel, in that her true name must remain confidential in order to protect the innocent. It is awarded for numerous civil and humanitarian acts above and beyond the expectations of a citizen of the United States."

"S-sir!" Miss Marvel exclaimed, "I'm honored, really, but this medal... I mean, Captain America... Isn't he the only other person who ever received one?"

"Captain America used his full power to help the people of the free world through times of great trouble, and so have you." the mayor replied with a smile, "I'd say you've earned that medal."

It was a true, undeniable honor, of course; an honor that Miss Marvel wasn't sure she deserved, but she quickly packed the medal away in the box, saying "Thank you sir. Is there anything else?"

"Just one more thing." the mayor said, standing up, "Let me show you something."

Miss Marvel was feeling too distracted to fly, as the mayor led her out of his office, and through several hallways full of staring people, out onto the front steps of city hall, and there, she gasped in shock and horror. There were reporters all across the front steps of the building, and a podium had been set up right there at the top of the stairs. Miss Marvel looked helplessly at the mayor for a moment, but he was just grinning.

"You could leave by any other exit, with your impressive speed," The mayor said, "but something tells me you won't, will you?"

In fact, when she slowed down, and took a moment to think it over, Miss Marvel knew that he was right. It was her day to accept an honor from the mayor of New York City, and she couldn't ditch that responsibility.

Quickly, Miss Marvel opened the box, and handed it to the mayor. He smiled as she stepped outside, into full view of the reporters, followed by the mayor and two security people. As soon as they were outside, there was cheering and shouting in support, even before the mayor hung the medal over Miss Marvel's head, in full view of the public, and several television camera crews.

Everyone was thrilled. They really, really liked her, and Miss Marvel was speechless for a moment, but she'd been practicing, in her head, for that day when she'd be needed to say a few more words to the press, and since the day had come, she gathered up her courage, and spoke into the microphones.

"I'm very different from other people." Miss Marvel said into the microphones at last, "For a while, I'd thought that nobody would trust me, just because of how different I was... Of course, I don't think you can get a medal of honor, unless someone trusts you. Rest assured, I'll do my best to be worthy of your trust from now on. I guess medals are nice things to award people with when they've done right. People deserve rewards when they've done the right thing. It's something worth remembering, but it's just as important to remember the vital role that mercy, forgiveness, and second chances play in our world. Rewards for good deeds shouldn't just be there to make people who've done the right thing feel good about themselves, but to instruct and inspire others to do the right thing as well. My deepest hope is that people everywhere might one day look to rewards like this for inspiration in the direction of their own lives, and the efforts they put forth to do their best for their fellow man. Thank you all."

Then, in a moment more, Miss Marvel was gone, and so were the medal, and the box it had been kept in.

* * *

"...but turning away from the world of politics for a moment," Robert said with a smile, "there's more news from right here in New York. Apparently, a large-scale fire, that threatened to spread across half of Seventh was extinguished by a loud blast of some kind from inside, but not before every single person in the building was evacuated by what they later called 'a blur.' In related news, three motorists on the freeway today, claimed to have been saved from car accidents by a woman dressed in black, who grabbed their cars from behind. Finger marks were found in each of their bumpers."

"I know who that sounds like." Melissa said, grinning in satisfaction from just a short distance away.

"Me too, Melissa." Robert replied, still smiling, "I know for a fact that I've gotten more sleep since she showed up. It's a lot easier to feel safe when you know somebody's watching over you."

"Of course, not everybody feels that way, Bob." Melissa said, though she was still grinning.

"You're kidding me." Robert replied in artificial surprise.

"No. No joke here, Bob." Melissa responded, "In fact, just this afternoon, I had a talk with one of New York's loudest voices against public civil acts by superhumans, and vigilantism in general; John Jonah Jameson; the editor of the Daily Bugle."

"Well, let's here what he has to say." Robert said, and that was the cue. The video of the interview started to play.

* * *

Melissa sat opposite Jameson, in the room where they'd had their interview. His thin mustache twitched a little in some irritation and mistrust. Jameson wasn't the sort of person who smiled for the camera.

"Mister Jameson, thanks for joining us." Melissa said, shaking his hand, though he was a little cold about returning the gesture.

"Mister Jameson, your voice has been one of the loudest in denouncing these 'super heroes,' especially the ones who wear masks. Could you explain your position to me?"

"Alright." Jameson replied quickly, "It's not so complicated. You see, living in a country like America means certain things, Melissa. Some of the most important things we have here in America are institutions and agencies to protect us from criminals, terrorists and disasters. Those people don't always do everything we'd like them to, but because it's their job to do the best they can, we know we can trust them. Now, there are things an ordinary citizen can do to help the police or disaster relief crews when something really horrible happens, but using special powers and a mask to set yourself up above our methods of law enforcement is just basic vigilantism. We may think it's flashy, and we may like the fact that one of these costumed hooligans saved the life of somebody we know, but that doesn't change the fact that they're still vigilantes, and vigilantes are just common criminals. In my opinion, letting these super-powered menaces take the law into their own hands like this is the same thing as turning the other way when a revenge-crazed madman gathers a lot of guns, and goes on a crusade to butcher criminals. Remember what happened to that nut from Queens when he tried to kill Lucius Morelli?"

"You mean the Castle case?"

"That's the one. He'll probably be in prison for the rest of his life, and I stand behind that decision. If somebody's committed a crime, we have a legal system to deal with that. We don't need a bunch of costumed threats running around."

"So you feel this way about all modern superhumans? Not just the Avengers, but..."

"The Fantastic Four, Daredevil, if he exists..." Jameson continued, "They'd all have federal investigators breathing down their necks if I had anything to say about it."

"Now, in your paper, you used Spider-man as an example more than once." Melissa cited.

"Why not?" Jameson asked, finally cracking a smile, "Spider-man's a fantastic example of just the kind of rampant vigilantism I'm talking about. You always hear about him out there saving people, or fighting crime, but who is he? Why does he wear a mask? Who does he answer to? Could we bring consequences against him if he went too far? Can we really afford to trust someone like that? I don't know about you, but these so called 'heroes' haven't brought me any relief at all. Until we know who they are, and until they're willing to stop hiding behind masks, and act within the system, we can't be sure what they'll do next, and they have so much power, how can we feel safe?"

"So you're not shy about that view?"

"Being shy doesn't sell papers, Melissa. I have to tell the truth as I see it."

"Is that how you feel about Captain America?"

"These days, yes." Jameson replied, "When he was in the Invaders, he was sanctioned by the government, so he at least went through the right channels. Since he showed up again, though, he hasn't been working with the government at all. I'd be surprised if he's even the same guy."

"This is kind of a hard topic to talk about," Melissa said, and Jameson could see that she was getting antsy, "but how do you feel about Miss Marvel?"

"At this point, I worry about her the most." Jameson said, "It used to be Spider-man, but right now, she's a much bigger menace. From what I've heard, some kind of weird chemical changed every function of her brain and body somehow. Are we supposed to believe she still thinks like a human being? Are we supposed to trust her, just because she's been helpful so far? I think Miss Marvel just wants us all to think she's nice, when the truth is, there's nothing about her that's human anymore, and if she's not human, we can't count on her to believe in or support the things we care about. We can't trust Miss Marvel, or any of these other so-called 'super humans.' They're the biggest threat to mankind I've ever seen."

* * *

Only three days after Jameson's interview on television, Miss Marvel was caught by reporters, just after having saved a young child who'd wandered into a construction site by accident, and nearly been crushed by a falling I-beam. At the time, there weren't any other big emergencies that demanded her attention, so she decided to answer a few of their questions. Relatively innocuous questions came and went about what she'd been up to lately, what was planned for the future, and whether she was still making her home in New York City. How did she feel about working with the Avengers? Did she have any relatives who lived in New York? Then, one reporter asked a question that sounded a little out of place.

"Mister Jameson; the editor of the Daily Bugle has accused you of not being able to act with compassion like a human being. Is there any truth to that?"

It was Miss Marvel's big chance. She had to show who she really was; the fair and gracious person that she'd made of herself during her time in the air force.

"Of course, I'm still human." she said quickly, "I'm different from most other humans, of course, but I was born a human, and aside from my abilities, nothing has really changed about that. Mister Jameson has done a lot of good work in his career. He's won quite a number of prestigious awards for journalistic excellence, and those are qualifications I've come to respect, but his worries about my mental state are unfounded. I can't expect him to just take my word for it, of course. I don't lie, but lots of people do, and that can make it hard to trust anyone. I guess the only other thing I can say is that I hope he'll consider my actions on behalf of the people of the world as evidence of who I really am, and how I feel. Deeds, after all, are where the truth is really found, not words. If my deeds can't convince him of who I am, and what my intentions are, none of my words will either."

There were a few more questions asked, but all of them were answered quickly and easily, and in the end, Miss Marvel received another call from the Avengers, and soared off to the rescue.

* * *

Jameson sat at his desk late in the evening, one hand on the armrest of his chair, and the other on his desktop. There were those who said that the world of the free press never died down, which only made his own situation seem even less acceptable. He was dying inside.

It wasn't that there was less news to report on. There was always news. However, the Daily Bugle had fallen on hard times recently, and the number of employees working at the paper was less than a third of what it had once been. Sometimes, Jameson got a whole fifteen minutes to himself without anyone demanding his attention over even a single article. It had only been two months since his television interview, and things were going downhill fast.

That night, Jameson had been alone with his thoughts for almost five minutes when he heard Robbie opening his office door. Jameson suspected, though, that Robbie's intrusion wasn't due to a job that needed to be supervised, but rather, because Robbie felt sorry for him, and didn't want him to be alone in his misery.

"Jonah?" Robbie asked as he stepped into the office and closed the door. Jameson's office no longer had the bright, busy feeling that it once had in the days when he'd frequently needed to yell orders to three people at once, just to keep the paper going. The Daily Bugle had been popular back then. People had read it. They'd had the trust of the people of New York for years and years, and then, in what felt like the blink of an eye, it had all fallen out from underneath them.

"What is it, Robbie?" Jameson asked, not looking up to face his fellow newsman and closest friend.

"Five more of our reporters moved to the Times today, Jonah." Robbie reported sadly.

"Cowards." Jameson muttered angrily.

"Sir, at this point the Bugle's a sinking ship, and they all know that." Robbie tried to explain firmly, "We couldn't have kept a lid on it forever."

"What's wrong with these people?" Jameson exclaimed, as he got to his feet, pacing angrily around the room, "All the times we reported on the politicians, the corporate scandals, the blasted celebrities who ruin their own lives. They listened to all of that, and they loved it. Why can't they just accept that there's a humongous threat right under their noses? Why do they have to toss away all their common sense and good faith for a little hero worship? Why can't they see the truth?"

Robbie was silent for a few seconds, but when he spoke again, his voice was full of doubts and questions.

"Jonah, is it really so important to tell people that their heroes are dangerous?"

"They're not heroes, Robbie!" Jameson exclaimed furiously, "Have you really been drawn in by their transparent act? Can't you see that not one of them is a real hero?"

"Sorry, sir," Robbie replied, looking more disappointed than upset, "but what I see is that they go out into the world, and try to help people. They never ask for anything in return."

"They're not heroes!" Jameson repeated, more furious than ever, "They're... they're not. They can't be, Robbie, because... If they were. If they were really so selfless and good, then how could... How could we...?"

"How could we do what, Jonah?" Robbie asked, confused.

"Never mind." Jameson said, refusing to tell Robbie anything more about his reasons, "If there's nothing else to do, you may as well just go home. I'll finish up here."

"Yeah." Robbie muttered a little sarcastically. There was nothing to finish, and Robbie knew it. Jameson just wanted a few more minutes to try to convince himself that he was really in the right again.

Most of the time, of course, that tactic worked. Jameson would consider the situation and realize that it wasn't his fault things had gotten so bad; that someone else had caused him trouble out of callousness or malice, but in that instance, he slowly started to realize, he may have erred. Robbie didn't know what Jameson had been about to say, but Jameson couldn't deny that it would have sounded petty. After all, if such powerful people really were heroes, where did that leave the rest of mankind, who struggled just to get by in the world? Where did it leave ordinary men and women, who focused only on their own survival? Most people had no high aspirations for doing wonderful things, supporting amazing causes, or even doing right by others; they just worked for their own living. How could a normal life like that be defended if there were such selfless heroes in the world? For anyone to have all of that power, and yet, seek nothing for themselves was like a knife into the self-justifying, profit-based life of every other person in New York, and Jameson in particular. He'd always needed to struggle for his own survival. He couldn't have been a philanthropist, because he was too busy working. To have such a high standard of conduct set by super-powered freaks... was devastating to him.

"They are heroes." Jameson realized in the silence of his own thoughts, "I know they are, but I'm not. I'm just a man. I can't be a hero like them. Spider-man, Captain America, Miss Marvel... I keep trying to bring them all down in the eyes of the public, by telling people they're a threat, but there must be only a few people who feel as threatened by them as I do; only a few who want so badly to be great heroes themselves; to be the best they can be, that their admiration is swept aside, again and again by bitter jealousy."

Almost midway through that last thought, however, there was a sharp rap on Jameson's window, and when his thought finished, he heard it again. It hadn't sounded like a bird slamming against it, but Jameson was on almost the highest floor of the building, so it couldn't, he thought, have been a person out there. However, when he moved over to the window to investigate, sure enough, there was someone standing in mid-air outside, and Jameson recognized at once the bolt of yellow lightning on the black background that had come to represent, over the last few months, such an icon of strength and mercy in New York; an example for all others to follow. It was everything that Jameson resented most about super humans, all in one person.

"Mister Jameson." Miss Marvel said as soon as he'd opened the window, "I think we ought to talk about this."

"Come to threaten me, eh?" Jameson asked, some part of his old bravado returning, "I'm getting too close to the truth, is that it? Well, it won't work. I'm going to expose you, and all of those other 'heroes' for the badly-disguised menaces you are. I'm going to..."

"I think you know that's not how it is." Miss Marvel said sadly as she and Jameson stood facing each other. Soon, Jameson had calmed down and fallen silent, though he still tried his best to look unimpressed. In New York, Miss Marvel had become a symbol of everything ordinary people wanted to be, and a symbol of hope for everyone who wanted to live their lives in peace and goodwill. That made her at least a little intimidating to most people. After all, she was Miss Marvel.

"I came here because I don't want you to keep hurting people," Miss Marvel said at last, "and I don't want you to keep hurting yourself. Mister Jameson, I can appreciate the need for vigilance as much as anyone, but none of us have caused you enough harm to merit such enmity. I think that by now, it should be obvious that your insistence on printing propaganda against us isn't going to protect anyone from us; it's only hurting both you and the Bugle."

"Hurting the Bugle?" Jameson asked, trying to keep up his bravado, but Miss Marvel shot him down almost at once, though she tried to do it gently.

"Mister Jameson, I read the Wall Street Journal this morning. The Daily Bugle's paper sales are at an all-time low. People are canceling their subscriptions every week."

"Why do you care about that?" Jameson asked angrily.

"Because people are losing their jobs, thanks to that." Miss Marvel replied, "I know that doesn't make you happy. It doesn't make me happy either. I don't consider this a 'victory' over you, Mister Jameson. I don't want a hollow victory like that, laced with the suffering of people who weren't at fault. You have a commendable record as a journalist. Please don't throw it all away. Don't continue with this crusade."

"You had to say just the right thing, didn't you?" Jameson exclaimed furiously, "Damn you! You couldn't have made any mistakes, like Spider-man! You had to... you had to..."

"I had to tell people the truth about myself, Mister Jameson, and it's not that I don't care what happens to you." Miss Marvel replied sadly, "Don't place the blame on me because I defended myself too well. That's not fair."

Jameson slammed one fist down hard on the windowsill. He was furious with Miss Marvel for destroying his campaign against the super humans with her flawless conduct and popularity, and he'd often been able to fool himself into thinking that he could win a war against her with the power of the press. However, he was slowly starting to realize that that wasn't possible. Miss Marvel was an enemy that poor publicity from one newspaper couldn't undermine. She'd earned the trust of the world's people so well, that all those who distrusted her were frowned upon by the general public. All the time that Jameson had spent attacking her with his newspaper had been wasted. She was impervious to attacks like that. As much as Jameson longed to bring her down, the more he tried to, the more people he hurt. She'd been right about that.

"Just go away." Jameson said, refusing to show any weakness in front of the person he resented most in the whole world, "I'll handle this problem my own way."

Then J. Jonah Jameson closed the window, and went back towards his desk, as Miss Marvel flew away, but in that instance, he didn't sit down. Jameson knew that as long as he was editor of the Daily Bugle, he'd always be driven by the desire to take such obvious hero-figures down a peg, and he knew that he couldn't let the Bugle suffer anymore because of that. Jameson knew what it was that he had to do.

* * *

On the morning after his discussion with Miss Marvel, Jameson gave some very strange instructions to his secretary; Miss Betty Brant. Apparently, there was going to be a meeting of some kind, and everyone still working at the Bugle was being asked to attend. It wouldn't take long, but apparently, Mister Jameson had an announcement he wanted to make.

Finally, everyone arrived at the central hall at the bottom floor of the Daily Bugle building. There weren't any chairs, but then, it was apparently going to be a short enough meeting, so they might not need them. He'd just needed to get them all in one place, so that they could all hear him when he spoke.

Soon, Jameson, Robbie, and Miss Brant were all standing in front of the many reporters, department managers, layout artists, and typists who still worked at the Daily Bugle. Jameson looked sad, but it was clear that he'd made up his mind about something important.

"I don't think it'll come as any surprise to anyone here how I feel about masked menaces and glory hounds running loose in this city." Jameson said as soon as he took up a microphone that had been handed to him after only a second, "I don't feel safe while they're out there, and they can't fool me into thinking they're not a huge threat. As long as they wear masks, and set themselves above the law, they're menaces to society. You all know that's how I feel."

No one needed to say a word in reply to that. It was true. They all knew Jameson's feelings in that respect.

"I built my career off of my honest integrity." Jameson said, "I never held back on a story if I thought it was true, and I never let up on somebody I thought was a crook. I still think all of those so-called 'heroes' are just crooks, and I don't think I could live with myself if I let up on them, just for the good of the Bugle. I think it's obvious that our paper's been losing readers, because people don't agree with what I've been saying about Miss Marvel and the Avengers. They don't think they're criminals, like I do. I guess I'm convinced that the people of New York won't listen to reason now. Still, I was hoping it wouldn't have to go this far..."

Everyone else was silent, as Jameson spoke. They weren't sure what his speech was leading up to, but it was important; to him and to the Bugle.

"As of right now, I'm leaving my position as editor of the Daily Bugle." Jameson said, drawing gasps of surprise and alarm from nearly everyone there, including Robbie and Bettie.

"At this point," Jameson continued, "public opinion is slanted pretty badly against me, but if they don't want to see the threat that's floating right before their eyes, I can't force them to. I'm sure if people's opinion of these flying vigilantes ever changes, the Daily Bugle's new editor will be able to recognize that, and unless one of those super-powered freaks gets to me first, I'll still be around if I'm needed. I want people to know the truth, but I don't want to destroy the Bugle. That's why I'm going to recommend that the new editor of the Bugle be Joseph Robertson."

Robbie gave a start of surprise again. It was the first time he'd ever heard Mister Jameson refer to him by his real first name. All thoughts that Jameson's resignation might be some kind of elaborate joke had faded from his mind.

"Jonah..." Robbie said, as Jameson held the microphone up to him, "I don't know if I can do this... I mean, the Bugle... without you?"

"Now, I didn't say I was retiring." Jameson replied with a clever sneer, "As I recall, I used to be one helluva reporter, if you think you can still use me. Maybe, though... Maybe this just isn't my time. Maybe it isn't my world. Maybe people won't listen to what I have to say the way they used to, and there's always the possibility that, like all old men, I'm just railing against anything that's different from when I was a boy. Robbie, I truly think that you can breathe new life into the Bugle again. Don't compromise on the truth, no matter what, and show your dedication to the paper, and to the readers. That and a lot of work are all it takes."

"Thank you, Mister Jameson." Robbie replied, finally smiling, "It's an honor."

Then, the two shook hands warmly in front of all the Bugle employees, and from that moment on, all that was left was the paperwork.

* * *

"Yes. That's all I needed. Thanks for your time."

It had been a while since Jonah Jameson had really found himself smiling on the job, just because he was happy with the work, but gathering news, and talking with various people on behalf of his paper reminded him of the good old days in the business. It was almost as if those older times were returning, in spite of all the chaos running loose in the modern world. It had taken him almost three weeks of boldly reporting the news before he'd remembered how much he'd enjoyed it.

In those three weeks, he'd gotten a number of big stories, most of which had been published in the Bugle. However, there are always dangers to reporting on big stories, and one of them was headed right for Jameson on that very day.

Almost as soon as Jameson reached his car, something large and hard collided with him from the side, knocking him to the ground over two yards away. Jameson could feel that something was sprained in his right hip, although it didn't feel like anything was broken. After taking a moment to get his bearings, Jameson started to get up, and found himself facing a well-muscled man, wearing green armor all over his body. In a flash, the larger man had grabbed Jameson, and thrown him back on the ground again, underneath a stone overhang on a nearby building.

"You had to go and tell everybody, didn't you, Jameson?" the man said accusingly, "You couldn't have kept your big mouth shut, could you? You had to go and destroy my life!"

"You... You destroyed your own life when you held up that armored car." Jameson replied, taking only a moment to catch his breath, as he tried to get up again.

"Shut up, old man!" the man known as Whirlwind exclaimed, "I might have been out on the street otherwise! I deserved better! Anybody could tell that."

"Most people deserve better than they've got." Jameson said with a fearless sneer, "But they don't go around robbing other people to get it. Just because you've got powers doesn't mean you can do whatever you want."

"Really?" Whirlwind asked, "Because right now, I want to kill you, and I'm pretty sure I can do that."

Almost instantly, Whirlwind began to spin like a top, creating enormous, high winds all around him, that drove Jameson back to the ground, and then, in a flash, he'd rocketed upward by the force of his own speed, into the air, and collided hard with the stone and metal above Jameson's head, shattering and bending it, and sending debris flying at the moment that the super-powered criminal emerged again from the building with a crash. It was a rotten way to go, Jameson thought, as the huge chunks of masonry plummeted right towards him.

However, as the sound of the Whirlwind's attack had spread across the city, there was suddenly a dark blur, plummeting out of the sky, and striking Whirlwind out of the air with just enough force to shatter his helmet to pieces. In seconds, Whirlwind was on the ground; unconscious, but not terminally injured, and a single hand, small and delicate-looking, and yet, incalculably powerful, had seized the chunk of debris that had been about to fall on Jameson. The old newsman shuttered as the debris was lifted upward, further and further, revealing a pair of female legs in long, black boots, two bare arms, and the symbol of a large bolt of lightning, woven across a black background; the symbol of strength and mercy in New York.

"Don't worry, Mister Jameson." Miss Marvel said, as she carefully set the debris down, not far away, where there were no people, "You'll be alright."

As Miss Marvel landed a few yards away from Jameson, and respectfully took a couple steps closer to him, Jameson still found her intimidating, especially after everything that had happened due to her, and yet... There she was; one of the most physically-powerful women in the world; a champion of the people, and a crusader for peace and goodwill. She was only about three yards away from Jameson when he spoke to her.

"This doesn't change a thing, you know. I still won't be happy until you and all your kind have been unmasked."

Miss Marvel, however, didn't seem to have been angered by Jameson's words. It was as if her instinct to nurture and care for others was as impenetrable as her skin. She just didn't seem like anything could really offend her, or provoke her. At last, after closing her eyes for a few moments in deep thought, Miss Marvel replied to Jameson.

"It doesn't change anything? No, I suppose not. Even so, I feel you deserve some kind of reward for being so responsible with your power."

"Is that why you saved me?" Jameson asked, hoping that, at last, he might understand her, but she calmly shook her head, dashing his hopes to pieces.

"I saved you because it was the right thing to do, Mister Jameson. However, you've also done the right thing, so I made something for you. You can throw it away, if you want, but I wouldn't feel right until I'd given it to you."

Soon, Miss Marvel was standing right in front of Jameson, holding out a well-sculpted piece of metal, painted red and blue. It was disc-shaped, and had an image on the front of a man holding up a bowl, in turn lifting up many other men.

"It doesn't mean much to society, I'm afraid." Miss Marvel said, "but I felt you deserved it."

Then, Miss Marvel seized Whirlwind by the back of his armor in one hand, and was soaring back across town through the air.

However, just as she was fading from view, Jameson saw the words that were carved into the back of the medal.

"This medal is awarded to John Jonah Jameson, for acts of selflessness and integrity on behalf of others, and for proving that true heroism is not found in the powers one possesses, but in how they use the power that they have."

At first, Jameson had been just about to throw the medal away, but after hesitating for a few moments, he shoved it into his pocket, muttering "damn straight" as he headed back to his car.

* * *

End


	19. Issue 19: Ghosts of the Past

Tales from the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 19

"Ghosts of the Past"

* * *

"It must have cost you a great deal of money and time just to reach me. I hesitate to turn you away, based on that alone."

Johnny looked hopefully up into the eyes of the most dangerous man in the world; Victor Von Doom. He'd been to every other doctor, every other scientist who thought they knew their way around the human body. The only man left to appeal to was Doctor Doom.

"I swear..." Johnny said, "I'll do anything if you can just cure him."

Doom looked deeply sad, however, when he spoke again.

"Unfortunately, even Doom cannot accomplish everything, all at once. The disease you refer to is so uncommon, that I'm afraid I never discovered a cure for it. Finding one could take months."

"My dad's a dead man in three weeks!" Johnny exclaimed, desperate and scared.

Doom, under other circumstances, might have tried to console the man, except that he knew what it was like to lose parents. No words of his could help Johnny Blaze to face the loss of his father with greater courage. It was another in a long line of disappointments, and Doom resolved to remember the name of the disease that Johnny had brought to his attention, so that if anyone else came to him with that request, or, God forbid, if he contracted it himself, he might be able to solve that problem.

Frightened by Doom's silence, Johnny exclaimed, "There's gotta be another way. I mean, there's gotta be! There's always another way."

"Indeed." Doom replied, "But believe me, Johnny Blaze, that's not a route you wish to take. There are beings in this universe who would cure your father, but the price they would ask you to pay is much too great. I'm sorry. I wish I could do more to help you."

"Let me decide if the price is too great!" Johnny exclaimed furiously, "Isn't that my decision to make?"

Doom, however, was seeing in Johnny a dangerous desperation, and knew that for the boy's own sake, and sadly, for his own, he'd be better off sending him away.

"You have no experience with daemons." Doom replied, "I do. I've seen them... confronted them... fought with them. I know the cold, calculating cruelty, that toys with the lives and fates of mortal men for their perverse amusement. I know the vile, corroding poison that seeps into the life of all who make deals with their kind. Believe me, I'm doing you a favor by refusing to help you contact them."

"I don't want that favor." Johnny insisted, looking away. Doom was sad, but he did have other matters to attend to.

"I assume there's nothing else." Doom said, looking back towards Johnny in some worry.

"Nothing else matters." the other man said, the words laced with hopelessness and despair. Doom had been one of his few hopes, and without his help, there was only one other person he could think of who could help to save his father's life.

* * *

"Are you certain that no one followed you?"

"Well, I didn't see anybody." Johnny muttered, confused, "Why?"

"There are people who would be eager to see me dead." Mordo said, locking the door behind Johnny Blaze, "Powerful people."

In just a moment, Johnny had seated himself at the table in the center of the next room, and the young sorcerer sat down across from him.

"I'll be frank." Mordo said right off the bat, "I don't feel inclined to help you. I'm not exactly a generous sort, and I don't find your plight particularly interesting, much less worth risking my neck for. My enemies have become far more powerful over the years, and I have no desire to reveal my presence to the world until I'm certain that I have a means of defeating them. I hope that you can give me some reason why I should assist you. Otherwise, even meeting with you will have been a colossal waste of my time."

"Well, I haven't got much cash..." Johnny admitted, "I've been doing a lot of traveling lately, so money's a little tight. All I've got is me."

"Then you offer yourself to me in service in exchange for a favor." Mordo noted, "Interesting. Do you have any useful skills? Any areas of particular talent?"

"Well, like my dad, I'm pretty good on a bike." Johnny replied, "We never did see eye to eye about what a biker ought to be, but... Well, I guess I learned everything I know from him. It'd break my heart to lose him."

Mordo continued looking into Blaze's eyes for several moments longer, but it wasn't obvious what his reply would be when he finally opened his mouth next.

"Are you any good at fighting?" Mordo asked after a pause of a few moments, "For instance, if I wanted you to fight for your life, could you?"

"Well..." Johnny muttered. He didn't like to talk about it, but he'd gotten into his share of fights, both on and off the road. In his home neighborhood, he was something of a legend with his fists, and whenever he picked up a weapon, people knew to stay away.

"I guess I've had a little experience with that." Johnny said at last.

"Hmm..." Mordo remarked sarcastically, "In that case, take this."

As Mordo spoke, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, brass key, handing it to the young biker.

"If you're really ready to risk your life, there's an artifact that I want. In the side of a mountain, three miles north of here, there's an old, stone door. No one ever goes there, because the door is locked, and the inside of it is an ancient temple, filled with traps to test the courage and skill of those who enter. This is the key to that temple. Enter that temple and get past the traps and challenges. Inside, if you survive, you'll find a magical orb called the Lios Eye, which glows with a red light. That orb will give you the power to communicate with those who might be willing to grant your wish. They will, I'm sure, have a price of their own to ask; perhaps even one that you would be unwilling to pay, but that is your affair, not mine. All that I ask in exchange for this information is that you return to me, locking the temple on your way back, and bring back both the key and the orb. You may use the orb while you are still inside the temple, or when you return here, or not at all, if you prefer, but I would rather have it by the time twenty-four hours are up. Is it a deal?"

Johnny looked a little suspicious, but Mordo was grinning. Obviously, Johnny was being asked to brave great dangers in the near future, but that didn't make any difference to him. All that mattered was saving his old man. For that, he'd gone to the most dangerous men on the planet, and for that, he'd have braved any trap or test.

"Yeah." Johnny said, shaking Mordo's hand as he took the key, "It's a deal."

* * *

Johnny had found the temple in less than an hour, but it was three more hours before he was able to make it past the various traps and tests that Mordo had mentioned. They were hard and grueling, and Johnny didn't relish the thought of leaving the temple the way he'd entered by the time he found the orb.

Sure enough, the orb looked just as Mordo had described it; a transparent ball with a glow from within, that was red, and yet dark. Johnny didn't like the looks of the thing, but he'd tried everything else already. It might well have been his father's only chance. Seizing the orb, and holding it in both hands, Johnny closed his eyes, hoping for the orb to offer him some kind of instructions as to what to do next, and how to summon the power of communication that he needed. In only a second, however, Johnny found himself in a place even worse than the temple.

Dark pits littered the ground nearby, and pillars of fire could be seen, off in the distance. A river of what looked like lava was on the ground in front of Johnny as he stood facing a throne that seemed to be made from tortured faces. Atop that throne was a being with deep red skin, and a long, red cloak. His ears were long and pointed, and his hair was a wild mess. In his eyes, there were no apparent pupils. They glimmered like fire themselves. His nose and chin were long and hooked.

"Who are you?" Johnny asked, primal fear filling him as he spoke.

"Who do you think I am?" the being asked, "Come now, Johnny. Is it really that hard to guess who you've made contact with? Haven't I made enough of a name for myself in your world already? Aren't I... recognizable?"

Johnny had to swallow before he could reply to any of those questions.

"You're... You're the devil." Johnny realized.

"At your service." the devil replied, "I have many names, of course. For now, in polite company, you may call me Mephisto. It's not my original name, but I think it has a nice ring to it."

"Can you save my father?" Johnny demanded to know, steering the subject back on track.

"Who?" Mephisto asked, apparently out of simple disinterest.

"My father!" Johnny shouted, his impatience and frustration drawing out irritation in him, "Barton Blaze! He has a rare blood disease, and there's no cure. No one else can save him. Can you save him?"

"This may come off as sarcastic, but what happened when you tried praying?" Mephisto asked with a sneer.

"My pop's got lots of friends praying for him to get better," Johnny replied angrily, "but it's not happening. If God won't help me, I'm willing to stake my bets on you."

"Yes." Mephisto replied with a smile, "That's how it always is with every desperate soul I meet. You know, Johnny, if God would just get around to doing these things himself, guys like me would be out of a job. We wouldn't have anybody to help us; anybody we could count on."

"You're not trying to scare me, are you?" Johnny asked, frowning deeply.

"Don't be silly." Mephisto said, grinning again, "Why would I want to scare off a potential customer? Just making conversation is all..."

"Then you can do it." Johnny realized, "You can save him."

When he said that, Mephisto grinned all the broader, and replied "I can save him. Your father's disease is nothing more than a simple viral strain in his blood. I could cure that easily."

"Let me guess." Johnny said, seeing a pattern forming, "In exchange, you want my soul."

"Nothing so pedestrian." Mephisto said, waving Johnny's words aside, "At this point, what I want isn't just another soul, or ten souls, or even a hundred. I want... Well, I want what any enterprising businessman wants. I want advertising. Somebody to show the world just what a swell guy I really am, plus maybe the chance for a family reunion... Of course, in the end, your eternal soul would be mine upon the time of your death, but that's more of a technicality in a deal like this."

"I don't even know what you're saying." Johnny admitted.

"I guess it is a little complicated," Mephisto said, still grinning, "so here's the skinny. There is a daemon called Zarathos that functions to torment and consume the souls of the dead. He's one of my favorite subordinates, as you might imagine. Problem is, he's been stuck outside of my realm for a while. Some sorcerer got the bright idea to trap Zarathos in the land of the living, so that he couldn't sustain himself and his power with souls anymore. I've been trying to find a way around that for a while. Of course, there is one way for Zarathos to return to my realm for a nice, big reunion. I have to bond him to a mortal in body, mind and soul. That way, when the mortal dies, which happens to everybody at some point, his soul comes to my realm, and Zarathos hitches a ride. Of course, there's advantages to having a daemon on board. You might even learn to like it, and in exchange, I swear I'll cure your father's disease. Well? Is it a deal?"

"If you don't follow through on your end of the bargain, I want your assurance that all of this will be undone." Johnny said after pausing for only a few seconds, at which point Mephisto smiled. It was the depths of Johnny's love for his father. To even the most lopsided and unfair of deals with one of the worst devils of all, Johnny was going to say yes.

* * *

Doom frowned as he put the finishing touches on the device, taking a small pair of tweezers, and putting them on the floor in front of the machine. At that point, he looked over to the other side of the room and discovered, to his delight, that the very same pair of tweezers had just appeared there. Doom picked up the two pairs, and placed them onto his carbon dating device, near one side of his lab. Sure enough, one was precisely three minutes older than the other. Satisfied, he put his own pair of tweezers back on the floor, and started the machine, causing them to vanish. The experiment, he'd decided, had been a fantastic success. Doom's machine was the first device ever designed that could enable matter to travel from one point in time to another. In theory, a time travel device of that nature was just what Doom needed.

The problem was that even with his technology, such a powerful machine had needed to be large and bulky, taking up over nine square feet. He'd managed to make it relatively inconspicuous by placing the machine inside the walls of his castle, but it wasn't something he could carry around. The machine was much too large to be convenient, and even despite its large size and power, there were many limitations.

For one thing, because of its vast size, the machine itself couldn't travel through time. It could only send specific items or people across temporal distances. Because of that, Doom would need someone who he could completely trust to operate the controls. That was no problem, of course. He had a whole kingdom full of trustworthy men and women. The risk was in one of his enemies seizing upon his moment of distraction and taking advantage; perhaps even conquering his castle. The weapons and defenses of Castle Doom were powerful, but without the guidance of its lord, the castle would be at its weakest. Doom didn't like the idea of leaving his kingdom undefended like that. It was a dire risk.

However, Doom would never have gotten where he was that day if he hadn't been willing to take risks. In many ways, the risks that Doom had taken had shaped his whole life, for both good and ill. He knew that the time travel machine wouldn't do much good as a weapon. The danger was too great that he might undo some pivotal occurrence in his own past. However, that didn't mean the machine was useless, because there were many secrets in the past that could be uncovered; many ancient treasures that could be found.

Quickly, Doom left his lab under the watchful eyes of his guards, and returned to his meeting chamber to hear the next several requests from his subjects. Victor Von Doom was an excellent judge of character, and the moment he saw someone who seemed particularly grateful to him, that was when he'd make his move.

"Master." one young woman said, approaching Doom with a humble bow, "The mines in the south districts are running out of iron. We need new work to keep ourselves occupied."

"The southern district mines won't be exhausted for another ten years." Doom replied, "You've come upon a patch of clean Earth, but don't worry. Even larger amounts of iron ore wait below the next fifty feet. I've determined that with my machines. You can report that to the mining head."

"Thank you, sir."

The next was an older man, who said "Sir, my wife is ill, and none of the doctors at the local medical center are certain how to cure her."

Doom thought about that for a moment, then pointed to a computer terminal embedded in a nearby wall.

"Enter your wife's name into that computer." Doom said, "Within twelve hours, an emissary of mine will go to examine her. If I could cure her, he can. If not, then I'll make it a point to take action directly."

"Thank you, master." the older man said, stepping over to the computer as a third person stepped forward.

The third man who approached Doom that day was a younger man, with blond hair and hazel eyes. He was fit and strong-looking, and he frowned as he made his request.

"Master, this may seem like a strange request, but a while ago, I left Latveria for a few days to see the outside world. I guess I was disappointed by the social climate I found out there on the whole, but I did fall in love with a young lady, and when I told her about Latveria, she said that if life here was anything like I said it was, she'd want to come here and stay with me forever. The problem is that her father found out about what we had planned, and now he's hired some police in his town to keep her imprisoned in a holding cell on phony charges, just to prevent her from coming here. I've tried to convince her father that he doesn't need to protect her from me, or from you, but..."

"I understand." Doom replied quickly, "I think that I could exert some political influence over the country in question, to get the young lady released and into Latveria, if that's what you're asking."

"Thank you!" the young man exclaimed, "Thank you so much, Master! I honestly wasn't sure if you'd do that or not. I mean, I have faith in you, of course, but for you to grant me a favor that involves another nation..."

Doom smiled at the young man's reaction, and quickly made an important decision.

"You may have more than merely the love of your life if you follow my plan. What's your name?"

"Pasquale Atacer." the young man replied, still smiling brightly.

"In that case, follow me." Doom said with a smile of his own, getting up from his throne, and instructing his guards to make sure they weren't disturbed, as Doom lead Pasquale into the hallway off the side of his meeting chamber, leading to his lab.

Doom gestured to Pasquale as he approached the two guards at his lab doors, and they immediately understood the gesture. Pasquale would enter the lab under the clearance of Victor Von Doom.

Almost as soon as Pasquale was inside the lab, Doom shut the door and locked it. Obviously, Doom didn't want anyone seeing or hearing what he was about to reveal.

"I have need of one person who I can trust above all others, with the exception of myself." Doom admitted, "Until now, I've never needed such a person, but I've just finished developing a very unique, new type of machine, and... Well, to put it bluntly, it's a time travel device."

"A... a time machine?" Pasquale asked, absolutely amazed.

"In the most specialized sense of the term." Doom clarified, "Unfortunately, the machine cannot travel through time itself, and therefore, it must be operated from this period in time. It creates momentary, interconnected time rifts in whatever place I wish, and since time is a part of space, it can create them in any time as well."

"Amazing." Pasquale muttered, stunned by what he was hearing, though he didn't understand all of it.

"Of course, the use of a time travel device must always be carefully-planned and executed. The ability to travel through time can too easily create a time paradox, disrupting the flow of time as we know it. Therefore, one can't just travel back in time and prevent the birth of their enemies. If I tried to do that, my enemies never would have been born, then I'd have no reason to go back into the past, and if I didn't go back into the past, my enemies would be born, meaning that I would go back, and so forth. In short, time would be split into two timelines, each of which would loop back into the other, so time would no longer travel forward along either timeline, and the universe would most likely come to an end. At least, the universe as we know it."

"But I'm sure you've taken precautions to prevent that from happening." Pasquale said, no fear in his voice.

"Naturally." Doom replied, "Doom is no fool. I understand full well the results of my actions, and have therefore determined that it's safe to travel back in time and retrieve something from the past, if that something was about to be lost anyway. That way, it gets lost into my hands, and nothing really changes about time. Faced with even this limited potential application for time travel, though, I already have a plan for what to do next."

As he spoke, Doom removed an old book from a nearby shelf, and opened it to a key point, where there was an illustration on one side of the book, and a map on the other side. The illustration showed a man in a large hat, with a sword strapped across his shoulder, and a pistol attached to his belt. He had small, but powerful-looking muscles, and a long, black beard.

"This is Edward Teach." Doom said, pointing to the picture, "In the modern day, he's more often known by the nickname that his victims gave to him; Blackbeard the pirate. Now, Blackbeard was notorious for robbing, plundering, taking hostages, and piracy in general, but as far as I can tell, he rarely killed anyone. However, he did make himself a very feared man in spite of that, and one of his raids involved using four ships to blockade the port in Charleston, South Carolina. No ship got in or out of that port without giving the pirates some of their cargo, and when Blackbeard and his crew finally left port, they'd acquired a great deal of rations, weapons, liquors, and other valuables."

"There is one thing, however, that they acquired, which even Blackbeard himself must not have recognized the significance of. There was a chest which they took from a British ship called the Princess of England. The chest was exceptionally valuable, because when it was opened, the pirates saw inside an assortment of precious gems. They took the chest with them, and stored it on the ship known as the Queen Anne's Revenge; which is perhaps Blackbeard's best-known pirate ship to this day."

"Not much later, however, Blackbeard ran the Queen Anne's Revenge and another of his ships aground for some reason. Many of his crew members insist that it was out of greed, to increase his share of the treasure, but given what I know of him already, I would tend to doubt that very much. At any rate, the pirates tore the wrecked ships apart later, looking for whatever cargo they could find, but the treasure chest with the gems was never found. My intention is to use the time-travel device to travel back into the past, and take what I need from the treasure chest before it's lost, and I need you to operate the time machine from this end. The controls aren't complicated. I'm sure you'll understand them in under five minutes. I'll input the time and place I wish to travel to, and the time and place from which I'll be traveling back. It'll be your job to use the controls to send me to the first set of coordinates, then as soon as I disappear, retrieve me from the second set. Do you understand what I'm asking of you?"

"Yes, master." Pasquale replied quickly, "But, is it alright if I ask you a question?"

"By all means." Doom replied gladly.

"Well, why go after these particular gems? I mean, they can't be that valuable to someone like you, sir."

Doom was impressed by Pasquale's deductive reasoning skills. Indeed, going back into the past just to take some treasures from a pirate would have been a somewhat petty use of his technology, if they were indeed ordinary gems.

"A wise question." Doom admitted aloud, "Pasquale, do you remember how I told you that the gems originated in England?"

Pasquale nodded quickly.

"Most of the gems in that chest were indeed very old and very worthless; at least to me, but there was one gemstone among the rest that was truly special. You see, those were gems gathered by the more recent administrations of England from older castles, and the special gemstone was no exception. It had been found in the remains of the high tower of a castle that had once been Castle Camelot. The tower, I believe, had been the tower in which Merlin the sorcerer dwelled, and I am now convinced that what the English of the 1700's mistook for a mere gemstone was actually Merlin's Obsidian Stone, with which he mastered and overwhelmed the realm of shadow in his later years. The legends of Merlin depicted him using the stone to accomplish military victories over supernatural forces that threatened to destroy him and his people. I'm not yet certain what manner of powers the stone possesses, but it seems worth acquiring just based on that knowledge alone."

Pasquale was smiling again in moments as he said "I understand."

"I'll depend on you to retrieve me from the past." Doom said as he stepped towards the time machine's controls, and started punching in commands, "If you chose not to, I'd be trapped there. Because this task is so important, I'm willing to offer you the honor of becoming the duke of the thirteenth western district from Doomstadt if you complete your task and prove to be trustworthy."

"Thank you, master." Pasquale replied, bowing gratefully, "I promise, I won't fail you. I don't know what Latveria would do without your guidance."

Nodding, Doom stood on the platform, and pointed Pasquale over to the controls, saying "Push the central lever upwards, to turn on the power, then press the button with the green light to execute the program. Turn the dial to read 'program two' after I disappear, then push the central lever up again, and press the button. That should bring me back."

Pasquale didn't say anything in response to that. He'd be seeing Doom again in just a few seconds, although, in Doom's eyes, it would be more like forty-eight hours.

* * *

Johnny Blaze paced back and forth through the hospital waiting room. It hadn't been that long since he'd gotten back to the United States, and although he'd been exhausted and starving from the long flight in coach, he'd immediately rushed to the hospital the moment he was back on the ground, and shoved the small bottle full of red liquid into the hands of his father's doctors.

"This is it!" Johnny had exclaimed to the doctor in charge of treating his father, "This medicine will cure my dad; Barton Blaze. Please, get it to him right away."

"Now, hold on." one of the doctors had said, "We'll want to test it first, to make sure it's safe. If he drinks this and dies, it could mean..."

"There's no time!" Johnny exclaimed. "Before long, he'll be dead anyway, because you people wanted to play it safe. This medicine can cure him! Just give it to him! Give it to him now!"

In the end, Johnny had raised such a fuss, that the medicine had indeed been given to his father. Johnny could only hope that his dad wouldn't suffer any ill effects from the stuff as the medicine given to Johnny by Mephisto did its work, and Johnny remembered Mephisto's words to him.

"I can't exercise my power over your world directly, but this potion should accomplish precisely what you say you want."

"What about all that stuff you said about daemons and Zarathos, or whatever his name was?" Johnny had asked, "How are you going to make that work if you can't use your power in my world?"

"Because," Mephisto had replied with a sly smile, "my power won't be responsible for fulfilling that end of the bargain, Johnny. Yours will."

At the time, Johnny had thought only about his father's life, so the daemon's words hadn't worried him too much, but there was definitely something odd about that sentiment. Mephisto was obviously planning something beyond Johnny's level of understanding. Johnny was pretty sure that he didn't have the power to free a daemon from its imprisonment, or bind it to his soul, or do any of the other things that Mephisto had wanted. Something was up.

However, in the moment when he finally found a little time to concern himself with those thoughts, Johnny discovered that the thoughts were fading yet again, as he heard the voice of the doctor; stunned, but happy, announcing "Johnny Blaze. I don't believe it, but your father's made a full recovery."

* * *

As the world came into focus around Doom again, he found himself falling through the air over the open sea. Everything was going exactly as planned so far. Doom would have been a conspicuous presence in any time period, and since his machines gave him the ability to fly, he'd decided to emerge from the time rift over the ocean, conceal himself underwater, attach himself to the hull of the ship, and retrieve the chest when it crashed. It wasn't a bad plan, but sometimes, things just don't work out the way you want, no matter how careful you are, and little enough was known about Blackbeard, that Doom hadn't been able to predict when, precisely, his ships would travel by.

Almost as soon as Doom managed to regain his balance in mid-air, he felt a large, sharp object colliding with him from behind. It was made of wood, so it didn't pierce his armor, but it definitely shook him up, and it took Doom a few moments to dislodge himself, turn around, and fly back upwards, so that he could get a better look at who or what had attacked him.

Even Victor Von Doom was amazed to see the miniature fleet of four pirate ships, all sailing across that central point in the water, where he'd emerged, plowing through the waves at the very moment that Doom had appeared. The object that had collided with Doom in mid-flight had, it turned out, been the bow of the very ship he'd been searching for, and that was when Doom decided that he'd make his move then and there. The lookouts of the four ships, and the pirates on deck had already noticed him flying overheard. He just had to make himself known, tell them what he wanted, and take it, and then Doom would have both the Obsidian Stone, and the pride of knowing that he'd plundered from one of the most feared pirates of all.

"Attention, Queen Anne's Revenge!" Doom said, the loudspeaker in his suit amplifying his voice, as he slowly descended closer to the ship, "I am Doom, and I come to take from you a gemstone of great worth. I have weapons which you cannot possibly imagine, and I will not hesitate to use them if you defy me. Bring me the chest you took from the Princess of England, and I will take from it what I need. When I've done that, you may continue on your way, and you will never see me again. You have five minutes to decide on your course of action. Make your decision wisely."

Of course, Doom was certain that the pirates would see his weapons and lose their nerve; that the bunch of them were just superstitious savages, who'd abandon ship at the drop of a hat, but there was one thing Doom hadn't counted on. He hadn't counted on Blackbeard. Almost the moment that Doom had finished his speech, a shot was fired from one of the cannons of the Queen Anne's Revenge, though it missed Doom by almost a yard. Doom frowned, convinced that he'd have to teach those pirates a lesson if he wanted the gemstone.

Quickly, Doom swept through the air, diving downward towards the pirate ships, and firing the miniature lasers attached to his gauntlets. In moments, the deck had caught fire, as Doom descended among the pirates. Doom's armor was completely immune to the typical swords, and primitive bullets those pirates would be using, and he wanted to convince them that he was invincible.

Sure enough, the moment that Doom alighted on the deck of the ship, pirates were on the attack. Swords and pistols shone in the sun. Gunshots were fired, and metal crashed against metal, but Doom's armor gave him the advantage in that sort of fight. Weapons flew from the hands of pirates, and pirates flew into the air, as they realized that Doom's strength was greater than theirs by a wide margin, and in that moment, when it seemed that Doom would claim an easy; almost effortless victory, he looked to one side of the ship, and there he saw Blackbeard, standing on deck, with a cannon next to him; its restraint rope cut, and its fuse burning. That was when Doom saw what was about to happen, and tried to take to the air again, but it was too late. The cannon fired, and without the rope to hold it in place, it cannon rolled back, along the deck with almost the force of a large cannonball itself, striking Doom's armor hard in the middle, and slamming him against the main mast. Doom could feel power supplies giving out all through his armor, as circuits were blown, and advanced technology failed.

For Doom, the whole situation was infuriating. His armor would still protect him from physical punishment, but his jets were off-line, his air supply had been ruptured in the collision, and his on-board strength-enhancing circuits were operating at less than half capacity. In that kind of condition, Doom would be able to move his own armor, but he wouldn't be able to do much else with his technology.

"Now this is a tale worth telling." Blackbeard said with a smile as he approached the weakened Doom, "If people think the Scarborough feud is impressive, they'll surely react well when they hear the story of the knight in flying armor, and how he was brought low by the legendary Blackbeard. Men, I think that what we've gathered these last few weeks may be only the beginning."

Doom found Blackbeard just a little impressive when he spoke. In the modern world, people had some erroneous ideas of what pirates were like, but there, before Doom stood one of the most famous pirates of all, and he spoke very much like an ordinary person. He had a deep voice, and a strong British accent, but there was no hint on his person of the cliches often found in pirate stories. No parrots, no hooks, peg legs or eye patches. His mannerisms of speech were typical for the era in which he lived. It was the truth of what it meant to be an eighteenth-century pirate, and it was definitely not the same as the fiction.

"You don't really think you've beaten me, do you?" Doom asked aloud at once, "I mean, as heavy as this canon is, I can push it out of the way, and get free at any second."

Blackbeard stopped where he was for a moment. Doom was definitely playing a good game, and he was an excellent actor. He was also exceptional with intimidation tactics, but Blackbeard was all of those things as well, and he knew how to spot a lie on the horizon.

"Perhaps you could break free of that cannon, sir. Then again, I'm surprised you haven't tried to take to the air since I hit you with it, and when you spoke just now, you weren't quite as loud as last time. I'm willing to bet that you're just too exhausted to perform those kinds of magic tricks anymore. All that's left is the question of whether you can overpower my men and I."

"You must know I won't confirm your wild assumptions." Doom said, trying his best to hide his anger.

Blackbeard just smiled as several pirates grabbed Doom from the back and sides, finding him no stronger than any two of them, and well within their ability to overcome.

"I hardly need your help to determine that." Blackbeard replied, then turning to his men, he gave them another sharp command; "Throw this man in the brig, while I decide what to do with him."

* * *

All the doctor's who'd been working on Barton Blaze agreed on one thing almost immediately. His recovery was nothing short of a miracle. In the entire history of his disease, there had only been three documented cases, and not one had managed to pull through. Even so, mere seconds after taking the medicine that Barton's son Johnny had provided him with, he'd not only recovered from the disease, but there was no trace of it, or any of its symptoms, as if it had just never happened. If anything, Barton was feeling more active than ever, and he was eager to get back to his life.

Barton's reunion with Johnny had been a joyous one. Barton had no idea where Johnny had managed to find such a rare and effective medication, and Johnny was determined to keep it that way. Still, neither one could really pretend that things were the same between them after that. Before, Johnny had always been so distant from his father, and yet suddenly, in that one pivotal moment when his life had hung in the balance, Johnny had seen the truth; that man is mortal, and life doesn't go on forever. Johnny and his father were known to have argued, in the past, over the shape that their lives had taken, but it was, Johnny realized then, a pointless argument. In spite of those arguments, the two of them liked each other's company, and they had to do what they could to make the most of the time they had left, because you never knew when death would claim someone you really cared about.

Unfortunately, as well as Johnny seemed to have learned that lesson, he wasn't ready for the loss that he was about to suffer, only a week after his father was released from the hospital.

* * *

It was probably the first time that Johnny had attended a motorcycle stunt show. It was one of only a few ways for a person to make money on a bike, and it was Barton's profession. He was one of the best in the world, and that night, he was about to make history again.

The stunt in question involved speeding down a ramp, and through an obstacle course, where he had to cross over every white line on the ground in less than fifteen seconds, then speed up to the ramp, and make a leap in the motorcycle, over twenty-six parked cars in a row. It was a stunt that Barton had never performed before, but after all, he was wearing his helmet, and even if he didn't quite make the jump, he was experienced at dismounting, and leaping to safety from speeding motorcycles. It was how he'd survived so many stunts.

The show had been put on by a mister Crash Simpson, who was probably Barton's closest friend. The two talked often, even outside of work. Crash wasn't the only person who ever gave Barton jobs, but he was both a valuable connection, and a good friend. In a way, Johnny had almost thought that Crash's show was the place where Barton was safest. After all, it was Barton's element, under Crash's watchful eye, with everyone else watching too. Barton was something of a legend among motorcycle fans. People knew his name, and the bleachers around the obstacle course were almost full.

On that night, when Barton snapped down the visor on his helmet, and started up his engine, he could feel the heat of the lights overhead, and hear the noise of the people watching; cheering for him. To many of them, he was a fantastic spectacle. To many others, he was an example. Nobody could take a jump like Barton Blaze, and that night would be his greatest jump ever.

It was magic as Johnny watched his father work. He'd weave in and out of the various cones and poles with a speed and grace that was absolutely untouchable... Inhuman... Indestructible. It was the first time Johnny had ever seen one of his father's stunt shows, but suddenly, he began to understand why his father had taken issue with his own idea of "biking." To Barton, biking wasn't just a way to pay the bills, it was an art, and he was striving for a new level of skill in that art with every stunt, every practice run and every show he did. It was hard not to appreciate that when Johnny really thought about it.

At last, Barton took the final jump. No one had ever done a motorcycle jump over so many cars before, and it would require enormous speed, and precision skill to make it work. Fortunately, Barton had both of those things. As he soared through the air, he could feel the lights above him; the moving of the crowd, as a bunch of them off to one side turned on lighters, waving them in the air in celebration, but he wasn't distracted by any of it. He loved it all. Barton's front wheels at last came down on the opposite ramp, and his back wheels were soon to follow. In seconds, he'd started slowing down, spinning the motorcycle in three circles in a row to give himself time to come to a stop in that relatively small place. That night, Barton had proven that he was the best there was at motorcycle jumps, and at last, his son had been there to see him. That was the moment in his career when Barton was truly happy, and it brought everything together for him. At last, he was satisfied.

Of course, the significance of the feat that Barton had just accomplished wasn't lost on the crowd. Several of them rushed from their seats towards Barton, including Johnny himself. As it happened, though, the first one to reach Barton was a large man, smoking a thick cigar, and as soon as he reached Barton, he started talking, asking for this and that. Barton agreed to give the man his autograph if he'd put out the cigar, so the man dropped the cigar right then and there, to the ground.

That man would never get the autograph he'd been promised. No one had noticed that, as Barton had come to a complete stop, the gas cap had flown off of his bike. It hadn't been attached tightly enough, and the turns he'd done during the stunt had loosened it even further. By that point, there were gasoline fumes in the air, and the moment the cigar fell, they ignited, and the flames traveled right back into the gas tank itself, igniting what was left of Barton's fuel.

The explosion was so deafening, and its implications were so clear, that nearly everyone in the bleachers either screamed or winced when they saw what was happening. Barton's fuel tank had burst from the force of the blast, and a piece of metal had cut him in several places. He was lying on the ground, far behind his bike, slowly bleeding to death.

* * *

Doom frowned as he sat in the brig. His armor might once have afforded him many fantastic powers, but without it, he had only the power of his own physical prowess, and his understanding of magic. That gave him an advantage, but he'd underestimated Blackbeard once before, and he wasn't eager to do it again. The true reason why Doom hadn't used an eldritch blast to free himself from the brig, however, was that in Blackbeard's cleverness and ambition, and in the way he spoke, Doom had seen a reflection of his own brilliant determination to overcome, against all odds. It was hard for Doom to think of Blackbeard as an enemy, and he certainly hadn't wanted to disrupt the flow of history by destroying the man before he made it to Topsail Inlet. He'd been expecting Blackbeard to be a superstitious coward, who'd lay down his arms, and let Doom take his treasure by force. That had been the nature of Doom's real gamble, and it was the point at which he'd truly lost. If Doom wanted to get the gemstone without disrupting history, and escape alive himself, he needed to make a deal with the pirate captain, and if Doom's evaluation of Blackbeard's character was anything close to accurate, he'd get that opportunity soon.

Indeed, it wasn't more than an hour before the door to the brig area opened, and Blackbeard stepped inside. There were still some thick iron bars separating Doom from his captor, but all they needed to do was talk.

"So," Blackbeard said, his English accent apparent once again as he spoke, "why go to all this trouble? There are other sources of riches, you know. Was it only that you wanted the right to boast over having bested the legendary Blackbeard in piracy? Somehow, I doubt it."

"You're no fool." Doom remarked, sighing as he leaned back against the wall of his cell, "Actually, when you said that my feats before were magic, I think you may have been somewhat closer to the truth than you knew. You might not believe this, but I'm something that's very rare in this world; I'm a true sorcerer. The gemstone I seek is a source of great power. Encountering you and being shown my own current limits were only bonuses."

"A sorcerer, hmm?" Blackbeard asked, though he didn't show any sign of being unnerved by that. After contemplating it for a few seconds, he nodded once.

"Alright." Blackbeard said, "I'm willing to be reasonable about this. Supposing that you are a sorcerer. Why not prove it to me? Show me your magic, and I'll take your word for it."

"Very well." Doom replied, holding up one hand. In moments, his hand had started glowing, then shining bright green light. Doom scanned the room for a moment, looking for an appropriate target to demonstrate his skill on, until he saw a locked trunk off to one side of the brig, just out of reach of the cell itself, apparently for use in storing the personal effects of prisoners.

Quickly, Doom reduced the total size of his eldritch bolt to the width of a coin, and fired it. The bolt shot out from Doom's hand in a tiny, green blast, snaking around the bars of the cell, to hit the trunk right in the center of the keyhole. In only a moment, it had popped open, revealing a small bag and a hat within. Blackbeard looked at the trunk, then back at Doom, but he still wasn't afraid. He was, however, impressed, though he did a good job of keeping that expression out of his face.

"Alright." Blackbeard said, "So if you can use your magic to pop locks, why are you still here? Why not escape, and make another bid for taking over the ship? I'd welcome the challenge, in some ways."

"It's because what I desire is much larger than one ship, or a few ships." Doom replied, "It isn't your ship that I want. It never was."

Blackbeard looked Doom over suspiciously, but said nothing, so Doom continued.

"When I attacked you the first time, I did so because I was convinced that you and your men would be terrified of me, and would give me whatever I wanted if I scared you just a little. To be perfectly honest, I have much to lose if you don't continue with your voyage as planned. You'd be surprised by the kind of forces that we sorcerers have to answer to."

Blackbeard didn't look surprised, though. He seemed convinced by Doom's story, but what Doom hadn't realized was that Blackbeard was already a step ahead of him.

"Is this the stone you referred to?" Blackbeard asked, pulling from his pocket a pitch-black stone with white carvings engraved into it. Doom recognized it at once. Blackbeard was holding the Obsidian Stone in his hand. He'd figured out what Doom had wanted even before he'd been told.

"How... how did you know?" Doom asked, astonished.

"You said you wanted a treasure from the chest." Blackbeard said, "When the chest was presented to me, in exchange for allowing the ship to pass, this stone was shown to me as an example. They said that there were legends surrounding the stone; legends about enchantments. Of course, few sensible men believe such things nowadays, but the legends might, I thought, increase it's value. Now, though... Now, I'm convinced it really might have some odd properties. Since this is what you've been searching for, I feel that I hold an advantage over you."

"The same power that broke open the lock on that trunk could also break open your skull." Doom threatened.

"Except that you have forces to answer to, and much to lose if I fail to complete my voyage." Blackbeard replied, and it was true. Doom had told him that much already.

"I can summon things to my hand if I wish." Doom said, demonstrating his power by summoning the cell key from Blackbeard's pocket.

"So I see," Blackbeard replied, not fooled in the least, "but if you could have simply summoned the stone, you already would have."

Doom felt very much like cursing at that point. It was true, of course. The Obsidian Stone's power was far too great to simply be summoned like a common key. It was the reason Doom had needed to travel through time in the first place. Blackbeard was even cleverer than the history books implied. In many ways, the two were dead even.

"So," Doom said at last, "you're obviously aware that what I want is possession of the stone, and a peaceful departure from this ship at Topsail Inlet. Now the question is; what do you want from me in return?"

"Well, that depends." Blackbeard replied, "I want a great many things from a person who can summon items to their hand. I fancy the greatest lost diamond of King Solomon the wise. Retrieve that for me, and we can discuss the stone."

Doom did as he was asked, although it was more out of courtesy towards Blackbeard's boldness and wit, than because he actually felt threatened in any way. As Blackbeard examined the large diamond, he smiled broadly, but there was a look of worry in his eyes.

"I won't deny this diamond is a fine one." Blackbeard said, "In fact, I'm certain it's worth far more than I might get for the stone in any pawn shop. I'm ready to make you a deal in exchange for the stone."

"Alright." Doom replied, "Name your price."

"First, more information." Blackbeard said, "You say that there are forces you must answer to. What are your obligations to them?"

"If I am not at Topsail Inlet within forty-eight hours." Doom replied sternly, "The entire world may suffer a fate worse than death."

Blackbeard was just about ready to believe that, but he seemed saddened by that fact.

"A pity." Blackbeard said, "Such a man as yourself might have been a fine pirate. So be it, however. We will take you to Topsail with us, and in exchange, I ask that when we arrive, you supply us each with enough gold to make it worth our trouble. If you can summon a diamond, you can summon gold, I'm certain."

"You and your men will be well-paid, I assure you, although I'd prefer better accommodations than these." Doom replied, glad to have reached an agreement with the man. From everything he'd read about Blackbeard, the pirate captain kept his bargains.

"Then you'll have them." Blackbeard replied, "There's no more reason to pretend that cell can hold you. Follow me."

Quickly, Doom unlocked the cell, and followed the notorious pirate out of the brig, and towards the new room that he was being assigned.

* * *

For most of the next two days, Doom used his knowledge of magic to both summon refined gold to his room, and perform what repairs he could on his armor. Naturally, the proper tools needed to do a truly decent repair job wouldn't be invented for almost two hundred and fifty more years, but he managed to get a few of his systems back up and running. He'd run low on power, but he did find a way to repair and compress his air supply, which meant that he could survive underwater again. He didn't have enough power left to fly, however, or augment his strength, and using any of his weapons was out of the question. He would, he decided, just have to make do.

When he wasn't busying himself with that, Doom occasionally returned to deck, to assist in repairs. Of course, he knew that the ship would sink in days, and it would all be for nothing, but, Doom realized, honest work is something that everyone needs. Without it, life has no dignity, and the human spirit begins to die a slow death.

It could hardly be said, however, that Doom felt no sympathy for the pirates he lived among during that time. In a way, he felt some sympathy for everyone he met, but that group would never have been allowed to remain free in Latveria. They weren't particularly vicious or bloodthirsty, but they were trying to make a fortune for themselves at the expense of others. In his own regime, Doom made it a point to stamp out that kind of thing by redefining the very nature of a fortune, and yet, he felt sorry for them, in his own way, for having to live in a world that prized riches so highly that it drove courageous men like Blackbeard to become pariahs.

At last, one young man, who seemed to have upset Blackbeard somehow was told to climb to the crow's nest, to look for the inlet of Topsail, and Doom could hear his delight when he exclaimed "Land, Captain!"

Blackbeard looked back up with a grin on his face, and shouted "Course correction?"

"None!" the man in the crow's nest replied just as loudly, "We're traveling straight for it, sir."

"Alright!" Blackbeard shouted, "Come back down, then."

The man quickly climbed back down to the deck, but to Doom, his visible relief over not having to spend any longer in the crow's nest went by relatively unnoticed. What the news meant, to Doom, was that it was time for Blackbeard to honor their bargain.

"Captain." Doom said, "It's been an honor sailing with you, but I'm afraid I must leave you now. The gold you requested is in the cabin that you loaned me. If you'll give me the stone, I'll be on my way."

"Very well." Blackbeard replied quickly, "The stone's in my cabin right now. I'll bring it here. Will you need a longboat?"

"Most likely." Doom replied, "The power I used to fly before is exhausted and..."

However, just then, there was a shout from the front of the ship.

"Captain! Stormclouds!"

Blackbeard couldn't believe his ears. After all, he'd been at sea for years, and storm clouds didn't just materialize from nothing, in his experience, but as he looked out towards the mainland, he could see, sure enough, that dark clouds were indeed forming, seeming to spread outward from a central point on the coast. Then, however, a deep red glow had started to appear from within those clouds, and Doom realized with dread what was happening. He'd seen something like it before.

* * *

"What do you mean, dead?" Johnny demanded furiously, his face covered in sweat and tears, formed in desperation, hurt and misery, "He can't be dead!"

"Sir, I'm sorry." Doctor Baker said as he tried to explain the situation, "There was nothing we could have done. A piece of metal had gotten lodged in his large intestine, and he'd already lost so much blood by the time we got to him that he was just too weak for surgery. He would have died, even if we'd operated immediately."

Johnny felt his rage and hate boiling to the surface. It wasn't the fault of the doctors, of course, and it wasn't Barton's fault. He'd performed his feat perfectly. On the surface, others might have seen Barton's death as a simple accident, but Johnny knew the truth. He knew who was really responsible for his father's passing, and that was all he could think about for the rest of the day. At last, when Johnny got home from the hospital, he looked down at the ground, and made an immediate demand.

"Mephisto! I want answers now!"

* * *

In moments, Johnny found himself back at the foot of the throne of evil, and there he saw Mephisto again, looking just as lazy and amused as ever.

"As you can see," Mephisto said, "your soul is changing already. It's the reason why you can speak to me without the orb. Soon, your change will be complete, and our deal will be..."

"Shut up and listen to me!" Johnny exclaimed, "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you? Damn you! You knew my father was going to die whether I cured him or not!"

Mephisto just nodded, a wicked grin on his face as he leaned on one side of his throne.

"You lying scum!" Johnny shouted, but Mephisto didn't seem intimidated.

"I've been called worse." the daemon replied, "Although, in this case, your accusation isn't totally accurate. After all, I only promised you the cure to your father's disease. I never said anything about what would happen after that. Besides, you got the chance to spend a little longer with him, talk to him, be his friend for a while, and you didn't get the chance to betray him before he died. Isn't that worth it?"

"No!" Johnny shouted, "No, that's not worth it! You can forget it, Mephisto! The deal's off!"

"I'm sorry," Mephisto replied, "But you can't back out of a bargain after you've entered into it. It's not that easy. You didn't tell me you wanted to live happily. You told me you wanted to cure your father's illness, and I've done that for you. If there was something else you wanted, you should have told me before you accepted my potion."

"You can't force me to..." Johnny began, but Mephisto was ready with a reply before he even finished his sentence.

"I can't use my powers to change the state of your world directly," Mephisto explained, "but when you entered into our little deal, you gave me custodianship over your soul. A soul is a very powerful thing, Johnny Blaze. You should see the work of art that I've made of yours. It's your soul that's set in motion your obligation to fulfill your end of the bargain, and if you try to break free, it's your soul that will stop you. At this point, I couldn't dissolve our deal even if I wanted to, and frankly... I don't want to. I find this whole thing very amusing."

Sure enough, it seemed that Mephisto was having a laugh at Johnny Blaze's expense, and that laughter rang through the air, as Johnny found himself back in his own house, and refused to die away when he tried to get to sleep that night. His nightmares were gruesome.

* * *

"Hold her fast!" Blackbeard shouted, "Send the signal to the other ships! Everyone's to slow down and hold position until I give the order."

"Captain." the first mate replied, quickly delegating authority, as the crew of all four ships stood on deck, astonished and horrified by what they were seeing right in front of their bows, at the very spot that they'd been meaning to deposit Doom. Some sort of massive monster was standing in the water, looking out at them across the sea. It looked like an enormous, fanged skeleton, with sharp protrusions emerging from its body at all points. Flames seemed to surround it completely, even underwater, and yet, they were flames that gave off surprisingly-little heat, as if they were more a manifestation of power, than an actual heat source. There was no question about it. The thing that they were seeing was definitely a daemon.

"Doom." Blackbeard said, looking stern, "I assume I don't need to ask if this is your doing."

"I've never seen this monster before." Doom replied, "But I think it might be a..."

However, Doom was cut off by a hollow-sounding voice from the beast itself just a moment later; a voice that rang out through the air, and reached the pirate ships.

"You hold the Obsidian Stone. I'm certain of it. Give it to me, and I may decide to spare you. Otherwise, you will face the full fury of Zarathos the undying."

"No." Doom muttered under his breath. He'd never seen that daemon before in his life, but he recognized the name of Zarathos from ancient writings, and if the being before them was the same daemon, they were all in a lot of danger. As huge and powerful as Zarathos appeared, he was still more powerful than he looked.

"Hold steady!" Blackbeard exclaimed, "No one moves until I give the order!"

Quickly, however, he turned to face Doom, asking "Is this the force you answer to? Is this why you wanted the stone?"

"I wanted the stone for my own reasons." Doom replied, "This daemon is little more than competition, but I'm afraid we're all in terrible danger. I've read of Zarathos the undying, and no weapon forged by man can stop him."

"What of your magic?"

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of me, but my magic is close behind that of an eternal daemon lord. However, if you give me the Obsidian Stone, I may be able to unlock its powers. If I can do that, we may have a chance to slow this creature down. However, Zarathos is a class of daemon that can never be completely destroyed by man, or by magic. The most we can hope for is to entrap him somehow inside barriers created by the stone."

"If it gets us out of this alive, I'm willing to follow your plan." Blackbeard said in understanding, "I'll get the stone."

Quickly, Blackbeard rushed into the ship, to reach his cabin, and came out moments later with the stone, handing it to Doom in a hurry.

"You're wasting my time." Zarathos said angrily, "Only I can unlock the stone's powers. You simple mortals have no skill in such matters of enchantments."

"Now, that's a mistake, daemon lord." Doom shouted back, "One mustn't underestimate the skill of Doom!"

In a flash, the Obsidian Stone started to pulse in Doom's hand, its dark color spreading across his gauntlet, then his entire body, sending out waves of darkness, as if the darkness itself were shining like beacons of light. Doom had unlocked the power of the stone, and with its powers, many new abilities became evident, including the ability to repair his armor. The Obsidian stone had the power to use shadows as physical objects, and since Doom's entire armor was closed off from the light, he had full control over how it worked once again. In moments, Doom was flying through the air again, towards Zarathos. His power supply was still low, but if he was lucky, he might be able to finish off the daemon before his reserves ran dry.

If Zarathos had been any other kind of being, Doom could have seized his shadows, and used them as weapons with the power of the stone, but, he quickly realized, a flaming daemon casts no shadow. It was frustrating, but Doom needed to attack him in some other way.

Quickly, Victor Von Doom started reshaping his own shadow, closing both hands around the stone, and causing his underwater shadow to stretch out towards Zarathos in yet another beacon of darkness. The enchanted darkness rose up into the air in front of the daemon lord, but he didn't seem impressed.

"Are you actually trying to fight me on even terms? What a foolish mistake."

The dark shapes struck Zarathos head-on with enormous force, causing the waves to kick up all around them in the ocean, but when Doom saw what had happened, he quickly realized that it wasn't going to be so easy. Zarathos had both arms in front of him, and he'd blocked the magical attack without even a scratch to show for it.

"Pathetic." Zarathos said, "I wouldn't possess such fame and authority in Hell, if I couldn't block an attack of that nature. Still, your skill as a sorcerer is impressive. Give me the stone, and I might still be convinced to allow you to survive, as my personal emissary to the planet Earth."

It was frustrating, but Doom wasn't giving up. Again and again, he fired blasts of darkness at Zarathos, and over and over, the monster deflected them away with his hands and arms, no matter which direction they attacked him from. Zarathos seemed to just be able to determine where each attack would be coming from before it was even fired, and respond accordingly. It wasn't like mind-reading; something about Zarathos' age and experience had given him an edge in understanding Doom's attack pattern. In moments, however, Zarathos chose to retaliate, firing beams of power from his eyes, and forcing Doom to fall almost directly down, to avoid being hit by them. Doom couldn't beat him like that. Zarathos was simply too skilled.

However, as the daemon lord took aim again, his stare fixated on Doom, there was an deafening crashing noise, and Zerathos was shoved back against the rocky cliff face behind him. At that point, he realized with dread that he couldn't move his arms, and in only a moment longer, he looked down, and saw why.

Two of the pirate ships; the Queen Anne's Revenge, and the Adventure, had run their bows directly into Zarathos' hands, piercing them all the way through, and sticking him to the rock behind. Of course, having run aground, the ships themselves were doomed, but Blackbeard still had two ships left, and depending on how much treasure he could manage to recover, a nice fortune at his disposal. The important thing was that it gave Doom the chance to make his move.

A blast of darkness shot out from Doom at Zarathos at that point, dividing into several, then piercing the daemon lord in many different spots, including the center of the chest, and the middle of his flaming skull. Doom could hear the monster's unearthly wail as he cast his final spell, causing the darkness to swallow the daemon up almost completely. In moments, Zarathos' wailing stopped, and his body was visible again, though it had started darkening, and stopped burning. Only a second later, it became obvious that Doom had won the fight. Zarathos' body was robbed of its owner, and it was swiftly turning to harmless ash, which would scatter to the winds, making little more than a dark day or two for the people of North Carolina, before it passed.

Doom knew that he didn't have much time before he'd need to scale the cliffs to reach the spot where the time rift would appear, to take him back to Latveria, but he wanted to explain things to his new friend; at least in part.

"This'll make a fantastic story of the adventures of Blackbeard." the pirate captain said as Doom landed on the deck of the Queen Anne's Revenge, which had run aground and was slowly taking on water, "The story of the greatest pirate of all, who conquered the forces of hell itself to rescue a friend he met only two days previous. Of course, not a soul will ever believe the tale."

"Perhaps not," Doom replied, "but you have my gratitude, nonetheless."

"The gratitude's mine to give." Blackbeard said, "Not only for the riches, but for the adventure. I'm sure you'll need to leave soon, but always know that if we ever meet again, I'll treat you as a comrade; a friend who helped me to kill the undying."

Doom, however, knew that he had to tell Blackbeard the truth.

"If killing Zarathos were that easy, he wouldn't have survived this long." Doom replied, "Zarathos is still alive. Only his body was destroyed. However, I have managed to seal his soul deep underground, and he shouldn't be able to free himself from that; at least not for many hundreds of years. This is as close to killing a daemon lord as I think anyone has ever come. Thank you for assisting me in accomplishing that, and good luck in the future."

There was the hint of a smile on Blackbeard's lips, as Doom flew to the cliff top, towards what looked like a tiny, blue cloud that was forming there. In only moments, he'd vanished into the time rift, and Blackbeard turned back to face his men.

"Everyone get to work!" Blackbeard exclaimed, "Load up the cargo into the longboats, and prepare to evacuate. The ship will be sunk before nightfall."

* * *

Johnny Blaze had tossed and turned for most of the night, plagued by nightmares full of the misery and suffering of the guilty. They were terrifying visions of death and horror of the most unspeakable sort, and yet the loss of his father eclipsed them all. At last, however, the visions started fading to black, and Johnny heard a voice speaking, as if from behind locked doors.

"These glorious things and more was I privy to. I had the distinct honor and pleasure of bringing these things about, and watching as the wicked suffered under my heel. I was the wickedness that evildoers earned as their eternal reward. Murderers, terrorists, politicians; every being who chose to kill because of how they felt, or something they wanted to accomplish came before me at one time. Of course, I was a horrible daemon. My place was to torment only those who killed for no tangible reason. When a person killed because of fear, hate, or out of the desire for revenge, I was there to accept their soul upon their demise. Those who killed for property, jealousy or lust went to others, but I received those most deserving of Hell, I feel, except perhaps traitors, and those who murder benefactors."

"I wanted that central spot, however." the voice continued, "I wanted the duties of the central daemons of Hell; to torture the killers whose crimes are against the good. They often have worse excuses for what they did, and one doesn't have to listen to them whine, you see. It's a position much-envied among daemons. That was the reason I tried to claim the Obsidian Stone when it resurfaced. I tricked some fool witch in North Carolina, into breaking down the barriers that imprisoned me. Her reward was an early admission into the daemon realm. However, that was when I suffered the first true defeat of my career, and I suffered it at the hands of mortals."

"I confess, that defeat broke my spirit, in a way. Having been bound and imprisoned by mortal hands, and having lost my chance to acquire the Obsidian Stone, I knew that my place in Hell was in jeopardy. What daemon would take me seriously after such a humiliating defeat? I became a ghost of my former self, drifting in and out of conscious thought."

"When Mephisto told me that a willing, human soul would be claiming me, I considered it the ultimate insult. You see, Mephisto and I could hardly be called friends, and to be bound to a mortal by the plans of one of my worst rivals is a humiliation even worse than defeat. I half suspect that he did this only so that he could boast about it when I finally return to Hell."

"Even so, there is nothing I can do to prevent it. You are to be the vessel for what is left of me; the ghost of Zarathos. At times, you may even find that you can use a portion of my powers. That is inevitable, although without my direct assistance, your full strength will still be limited, and I'll never give it, because I find you to be a repulsive creature, and the sooner that your life comes to an end, the sooner I can return home; to the wonderful place where I belong, where I can once again claim suffering as my right."

As those words rang through his thoughts, Johnny Blaze woke with a start, not because of the horror of the nightmare he'd just been having, but because somehow, a small fire had started near the center of his pillowcase, and he had to work for several seconds to get it to go out.

* * *

End


	20. Issue 20: Doom's Day Part 1

Tales From the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 20

"Doom's Day"

Part 1 of 3

* * *

Reed Richards frowned as yet another test came back negative. No matter where he went or how hard he searched, it seemed that the strange energy needed to power the alien device that might be able to change Ben Grimm's appearance back to normal simply didn't exist on planet Earth. Even so, Reed had sworn to Ben that he'd do his best to find a solution to his friend's problem, and he was a man of his word. Ben didn't always realize it at times, but he was probably in the best possible care. Reed Richards was one of the brightest scientists on Earth, and with Sue Storm financing their efforts, Ben really had a lot to be thankful for.

In the past, Ben Grimm had faced a lot of problems and challenges, made a lot of new friends, and helped the Fantastic Four out of a lot of scrapes, and he was certainly far from helpless. Ben was probably one of the strongest people alive, and he'd learned, over time, quite a few important lessons about personal strengths and weaknesses, and about coming to grips with who and what you are. At times, he'd even started to appreciate what he saw in the mirror every morning. It wasn't normal, and it wasn't human-looking, but Ben Grimm had his own kind of beauty. As Sue Storm had pointed out to him once; square-jawed pretty boys are a dime a dozen. Ben's look was far more unique, and, she claimed, that made him more beautiful.

Of course, if that was really how she felt, then it must have been a reason other than beauty that had led Sue and Reed to grow closer over the last several months. Their first date, from the sounds of things, had gone well, and Ben hadn't taken too much offense. Suzie was pretty and all, but she just wasn't Ben's type. That isn't to say the Ben didn't care for Susan Storm, but it was more the kind of caring that a father does for his daughter than anything romantic. Ben's romantic life had slowed to a crawl.

The problem was, as much as Sue and Reed had tried to bolster Ben's confidence in himself, his lack of recent romantic success was probably his own doing. He could, Reed suggested, have gone any place and drawn lots of attention to himself, or even taken an add out in the personals. It was hard to misinterpret "orange and rocky" as referring to anyone other than him. Ben, however, wouldn't hear of it. He was too convinced by that point that no girl would want to look at his mug every day. Ben Grimm had convinced himself that he wasn't attractive, and in a true case of a self-fulfilling prophecy, he'd attracted no one.

Reed, however, wasn't really dwelling on Ben, as he turned up the power on his new machine, trying to replicate the power source that the inhumans had been using. That experiment, though, was destined to fail, just as all the others before had failed. It was sad, but it seemed like the power source responsible for the terragen mists was some kind of highly-organized energy compound; almost like a living thing. Reed would have loved the chance to study some, but then, not being able to get his hands on any of that strange energy was the reason he'd needed to work so hard in the first place.

As the last of his tests failed, Reed sighed deeply, pushing open the door to his lab, and stepping outside. He was exhausted, and nothing constructive had gotten accomplished in the last several hours, which would probably make him feel at least a little irritable.

"Roberta," Reed said as he exited the lab, "Any calls while I was out?"

"Yes." Roberta replied from behind the secretary's desk that was her perpetual location, "There was a fairly important call for you from the Department of Foreign Affairs."

That drew Reed's attention at once, jolting him out of his worry and frustration as he realized that something serious was up.

"What did they want?" Reed asked, "Is this about the inhumans?"

"I thought so at first," Roberta replied, looking Reed in the eye from behind her professional-looking glasses, "but it seems that an effort is being made at international diplomacy over the next few days, and they wanted the support of the Fantastic Four."

"International diplomacy?" Reed asked, a little surprised, but not disappointed by the news, "Well, there's a first time for everything, I guess. Can you call them back now?"

"I can try, sir." Roberta replied, "But there's no guarantee they'll be there."

Reed just nodded. It was a typical sort of reply for her.

In moments, however, the number had been dialed, and a representative of the government was on the speaker phone.

"Doctor Richards." the representative said with hopeful optimism in his voice, "Good to hear back from you. My name's Alan Gere, and I called a little earlier to ask if the Fantastic Four would be able to assist us in a little effort of international diplomacy we're putting into effect next week."

"Well, that depends, Mister Gere." Reed replied cautiously, "What kind of assistance do you need from us?"

"We're mostly going to be having a large dinner party in preparation for diplomatic talks, and we'd like America's champions to attend, if possible. In fact, several of the diplomats we'll be dealing with have requested it specifically. You'd be among the guests of honor."

"Hmmm..." Reed muttered as he rolled the thought over in his head, but his reply was a relatively quick one, "Actually, that sounds like fun. Let me talk to the others and I'll get back to you."

Many preparations needed to be set in motion for the day of the dinner. For one thing, each of the four of them needed a new outfit for parties, which Reed had to design himself, using the unstable fibers and micro-computer technology that he'd designed their uniforms with. They hadn't been told to show up at the dinner in their uniforms; just to show up as guests of honor, and Reed was surprised, and a little dismayed, when he was let into the dining hall, and discovered that he and the Fantastic Four weren't the only guests of honor who'd been invited.

* * *

"I still insist that this whole affair is a waste of precious time." the Mole Man said bitterly.

"Helping people establish world peace is a waste of time?" She-Hulk asked from next to him at the table.

"We should be out saving people from injustices, not wasting time at dinners. I don't think I would even have come, if not for..." Mole Man said, but his words faded before he could finish the sentence. Both he and Jennifer knew what he meant. They'd covered that ground already. The Mole Man couldn't refuse Jennifer any request; not even the request to go out at night and waste time.

"Oh, I think this dinner will help a few people." Jennifer replied, "It might even prevent a war. Lots of innocent people get killed in wars."

"All I'm saying is that I understand why Widow chose not to attend." the Mole Man tried to explain as patiently as possible, grabbing a small piece of steak from his plate, and putting it in his mouth, "Dressing up and attending a dinner in anything other than our normal uniforms strikes me as being worthless, in and of itself, regardless of what kinds of repercussions may come of it."

"You don't like dressing up?" Jennifer asked, a little confused. The Mole Man was wearing a miniature tuxedo, though he was still carrying his staff with him, and he still had his cloak and special glasses on, which he'd defended as "the mark of royalty," but he did seem a little uncomfortable with dressing like that, in a way that Jennifer had a hard time understanding. When Stark had gotten a seamstress to make her a specially-designed party dress, she'd loved the way it felt and looked; the way it served to show off her powerful build, and yet, wasn't indecent; the way that it moved when she did, instead of sticking and making it hard to move as many other party dresses did. She'd felt like a supermodel when she was wearing it. Obviously, the Mole Man felt differently about his attire.

"Is your suit uncomfortable?" Jennifer asked, but the Mole Man looked away when he spoke next.

"My suit is very comfortable," the Mole Man replied, "but these are not the clothes of my native country. When I put them on, I acquiesce to the fashion sense of the United States, rather than standing as my own man from my own kind of culture. It might, perhaps, seem silly when phrased like that, but that is the long and short of it. That is my problem with this attire. It is simply not mine."

Jennifer felt pretty sad whenever the Mole Man talked like that. It was his bitterness and determination to remain largely separate from the rest of the world that sometimes made him difficult to work with and talk to. When Jennifer really thought about it, though, it was a little silly that they'd all been invited to that dinner together. The Fantastic Four she could understand. They didn't have any identities to keep secret. However, pretty much everybody in the Avengers had come to the dinner on request, with only a couple exceptions, and for the mask-wearing Avengers, the suits and dresses they wore looked a little silly, because they were worn over their uniforms. Captain America, for example, was dressed in a tux, which he seemed to be wearing over his normal costume, and Miss Marvel was definitely still wearing her own uniform underneath a pretty blue dress. Probably the only one who hadn't bothered trying to dress up was Iron Man, because, in his own words, "I'm already wearing the most expensive suit in the world."

However, when Jennifer looked across the room at Crystal, Black Bolt and Namor, she could see what Mole Man was so upset by. Each had certainly dressed up for the occasion, but they'd dressed up in the way that royals of their own nations did. Namor was wearing a ceremonial robe; common only in Atlantis, and Black Bolt and Crystal were dressed in lustrous tunics and pants, with thick boots and gloves, which were considered a highly sacred style of dress by their people; the inhumans. Each had dressed up in the way that their people were used to, and yet, the Mole Man had gotten dressed in a suit. Jennifer was just about to suggest that he might still have time to return to Subterra, and get dressed in Subterran formal attire, whatever that was, when Miss Marvel, having been invited to take the podium, started to speak.

"Thank you for inviting me to speak tonight." Miss Marvel began, "I think you deserve my thanks, also, for giving me this chance, because I don't want any of you to think badly of me when I'm finished speaking, and what I have to say might seem unfriendly to some. You see, we; the Avengers, didn't come to this dinner tonight to have a good time, or because we wanted free food, and I'm pretty sure the Fantastic Four didn't either. We came because the idea of open diplomatic relations between all countries was a cause that we thought was worth spending a night on. We believe it can work, if people are willing to be reasonable and work at it. If not, nothing we say or do can really help. The truth about peace on Earth is this; it will only happen when everyone; each and every one of you decides that peace is really what you want. I implore you; make that choice. Put aside the desires for riches, for power, for revenge, for resources, for anything else except that central effort towards nonaggression. People have been fighting each other for too long already. Let's all do our part to put an end to that. Thank you again."

Miss Marvel's speech was greeted with thunderous applause, and she couldn't help but smile as she stepped down from the podium at that end of the room, shaking people's hands as she went. She was better at that sort of thing than most of the Avengers. In some ways, in fact, Jennifer envied her.

* * *

Crystal didn't want Black Bolt to find out, but she was still wearing her Avengers uniform under her ceremonial clothes; the one that Reed Richards had designed with his micro-computers and unstable fibers. She liked wearing it, no matter what else she wore, and she had her own reasons for that. The clothes were similar to the ones worn by the Fantastic Four themselves, in that they changed with the body of whoever was wearing them, stretching where they needed to, bursting into flames if the person did, turning invisible if the person did that... They were the only kind of clothes in the world that kept up with the body of the person wearing them, and Crystal preferred to wear clothes like that at all times.

Of course, Crystal was feeling nervous, being in a place like that, among so many important people. She'd had a hard time getting used to the world of humans in general over the last several months, but to actually be charged with helping a largely-human diplomatic meeting run smoothly was a daunting prospect. That would have made her nervous by itself, but inside, she knew that if she lost control, she could do a lot more damage in that place with her powers than anywhere else. That made things even harder, and it made her even more nervous. She was almost a wreck when she heard someone asking for her a moment later.

"Crystal? Black Bolt?"

The question had been so unexpected, that Crystal had felt her control slip for a moment, and her powers start to activate, but she quickly reigned them in, and calmed down as best she could before replying to the person who was looking for her.

The man who'd approached the two inhumans was a relatively tall man, with broad shoulders. He was dressed in a fine suit, and he had dark hair and a goatee. There was a friendly smile on his face as he spoke.

"Hello. My name is Eugene Gorzenko. I'm one of the foreign emissaries attending this dinner."

"It's nice to meet you." Crystal replied, shaking the man's hand. Even Black Bolt leaned forward to shake Gorzenko's hand with a smile, though he dared not try to voice any pleasantries.

"Honestly, it was the two of you I most wanted to meet." Gorzenko said, "Unlike the others, you've had virtually no contact with the outside world before this year. Is that correct?"

Black Bolt just nodded quickly, and Gorzenko smiled.

"Come to think of it," Gorzenko continued, "I think it might be easier to talk about this in a somewhat... less noisy setting. Follow me, if you would."

Black Bolt nodded again, as Gorzenko lead the two of them down a nearby hallway. The entire affair was being held in a large, expensive hotel, which had been rented out almost completely for the occasion, by a collaboration of all parties involved, with the exception of the guests of honor, and when Gorzenko opened one of the rooms nearby, neither of the inhumans were surprised to find it empty. Gorzenko invited them inside, closing the door behind them, then took a seat, inviting them to sit nearby as well.

"Actually, as both of you are emissaries of a nation yourselves, you should have a rather interesting perspective on all of this." Gorzenko said as the inhumans took their seats.

"Not as much as you might suppose." Crystal replied quickly, "Black Bolt and I are here as guests of honor, but also as diplomatic mediators. You see, Atillan was one of the first nations to sign the proposed non-aggression treaties. We inhumans have great destructive power, but we believe that destruction only breeds more destruction, and that after a time, violence must come to an end, so that people can live in peace. There's no goal that should take precedence over peace and fairness. Protecting people's lives and lifestyles of choice are what we inhumans believe in more than anything."

"I don't understand how you can say that." Gorzenko replied, "I mean, isn't Attilan a monarchy of sorts? How can anyone support a monarchy, and also advocate freedom for all?"

"The inhumans are ruled by the one most fit to rule." Crystal replied, "We have means of determining that. Black Bolt is the wisest of us, and if our problems can't be resolved in his hands, then there is no one else who can solve them. The truth is, that's a way of life that we've become accustomed to; appointing the most worthy to public office and standing fully behind him or her. It's a way of life that we're largely satisfied with, because the risk of failures and wasted resources are lessened by far. The inhumans could choose to live in a way that gives us greater freedom from day to day, but we've chosen not to. That was, and is, our choice to make, however. That's what I mean by freedom."

"So if the inhabitants of a country are happy with their government, those people are free." Gorzenko concluded from her words.

"Essentially, yes." Crystal replied. She wasn't sure why, but she was starting to feel tired.

"The lord of my own country... feels... the same..." Gorzenko tried to say, though his eyes were closing gradually. In moments, Gorzenko and both of the inhumans had passed out on the floor.

* * *

Namor hadn't exactly been having a good time. He was still worried by the specific terms of the non-aggression treaties. He'd been hoping to include a clause that defined certain types of pollution as aggression, but as things were, he'd have to watch the surface-dwellers very carefully for signs of betrayal. Atlantis wouldn't be the first nation to lash out, but Namor was determined to make sure that if there was a threat to his country, they would be ready to respond to it.

Of course, much of the evening did seem like a waste of time and energy. People walked around the hotel, chatting with one another about various things, but on the whole, it seemed that the aim of the dinner wasn't to negotiate the terms of the treaty, but to coax a yes or no answer out of the various diplomats present. It was, in Namor's eyes, just another in a long line of closed-minded attempts at a peaceful resolution that wasn't going to be so easy.

Namor hadn't been expecting to really get anything accomplished at that dinner. In fact, he'd suspected that Atlantis would be one of the nations that decided not to sign the treaty. However, that was before he met Eric Brogin.

Eric was a diplomat from another nation. He hadn't specified which one, but he claimed that his country had sent several delegates to the dinner to make certain that everything went smoothly. He was a well-muscled man, but there was a tranquility about him that, in Namor's experience, often heralded a true professional, and a master of some craft or skill. In spite of himself, Namor had taken something of a liking to Eric, and the two had stepped out of the main hall to speak together.

In the hallway, Namor saw that Iron Man was present, and Iron Man seemed to recognize Eric almost at once, because he turned his head quickly to look in Eric's direction.

"Eric." Iron Man said, "Don't tell me you're friends with Namor."

"We've only just met." Eric replied quickly and, Namor thought, prudently.

"Actually I wanted to talk to the two of you about something important, before it gets too late." Eric continued quickly, "It's to do with the economy as it relates to foreign affairs."

"Alright." Iron Man agreed, following Eric as he led the two of them into a side room with very little furniture. There was air blowing down on them as they entered through the door, but it wasn't a big deal. However, almost as soon as Eric closed the door behind them, he seemed to sigh, as if the subject he wanted to talk about was troubling him.

"In a way, I'm almost sure the two of your can be counted on to be reasonable about this kind of thing..." Eric said, "I don't like any of this, really, but..."

In just a second, Eric had lunged towards Iron Man, and planted a small device right on top of his chest plate. A moment later, a powerful electric surge was traveling through Iron Man's systems, and he screamed as he fell to the floor in convulsions. It wouldn't matter, of course. Nobody outside that room could hear his screams. The walls and door were completely soundproof.

At once, Namor turned on Eric, as Iron Man fell to the floor.

"You traitor!" Namor exclaimed, "I don't know what you thought this would accomplish, but you're a dead man now!"

At once, Namor charged forward at Eric, and let fly with his fists, intending to truly demolish the man. However, something had gone wrong. As Namor made his move, Eric raised one hand, brushing Namor's fist aside with fantastic strength, then kicking him, sending him flying sideways, to crash hard against the wall.

"Your legendary strength can't hurt me, Submariner." Eric said coldly, "You see, that air vent we passed under on the way in here contained a chemical compound that evaporates water. It's making me a little thirsty already. I'm a little dehydrated, but I can still keep going. You, though... You get all your strength from water, right?"

Namor couldn't even speak in reply. He was already too badly weakened by whatever Eric's chemical had done to him. In a moment more, Eric's fist headed for Namor's jaw one last time...

* * *

As the night wore on, no one really noticed one person, or a few people vanishing from the main hall. Food and drink were had and enjoyed, and very little else really happened. By the time the dinner ended, and people began to file out of the hotel, there was very little time to notice the exhaustion that had started creeping up around almost everyone who'd been at the dinner. Just as people got up to leave, they lost their energy, and found themselves lapsing into unconsciousness. In moments, it seemed that the only two left awake were the Mole Man and Captain America. In one fell swoop, the whole dining room was littered with the unconscious bodies of superhumans and diplomats alike.

"What?" Cap asked, looking around the room in confusion and worry, "What... What is this?"

The Mole Man, however, looked even more worried. He already had his suspicions about what was going on, but he was determined to know the truth, so he looked over at Cap, and said "Hand me your glass."

Cap handed his glass to the Mole Man, who sniffed it a little, then grabbed Jennifer's glass from the table next to him, and sniffed that one as well.

"Yes." the Mole Man replied, "Most of these glasses have been tainted with a chemical compound. I'll bet it's some kind of slow-acting poison. Whoever did this planned things out well, because neither of us were poisoned."

"How is that good planning, leaving us out?" Cap asked, a little confused.

"Because I would have noticed the strange scent at once, and you would probably have recognized the poison immediately." the Mole Man explained impatiently, "We need to get out of here. Someone is targeting us again."

"We can't just leave everybody." Captain America insisted, but the Mole Man wasn't about to argue. At once, he'd gotten up from his seat, and pushed a tiny button on one end of his staff, raising it into the air.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Cap exclaimed, grabbing the Mole Man's hand before he could clamp his staff against the floor.

"Unhand me!" the Mole Man exclaimed, but Captain America was determined, and he was also a better fighter than the Mole Man in most ways.

"Listen, if you summon some kind of drill or monster to bore right through this hotel, lots of people could die, and we'd be charged with a huge amount of property damage."

"There's no time to worry about that. We need to escape with as many superhumans as we can." the Mole Man replied in fury, "The exits are probably covered already. We can't get out of the building that easily, or bring the others with us by that route. If we want to escape from this, we need to make our move here and now."

When the Mole Man spoke about how serious and dangerous the situation had become, however, Captain America started to lose confidence in his decision to stop what the smaller man was doing, and in seconds, the underground king had managed to slam his staff against the ground, just as the front doors of the main hall burst open, and men and women wearing gas masks rushed in. Each was armed with a weapon of some kind, though the weapons looked more like mortars that guns, and they had a series of small, circular devices attached to their belts. In moments, they'd started firing, and a visible gas was starting to spread through the room. The Mole Man was down in seconds, even as one of his drills emerged from the floorboards, and Cap knew that the gas was already affecting him as well. In a very short time, he knew he'd be out cold, and wouldn't be able to help his teammates, so he needed to put up as much of a fight as he could in the meantime.

The attackers dove for cover as Captain America leapt across the room, swinging his shield in a wide arc...

* * *

As his team led the other mercenaries back out of the building, dragging the Avengers and the Fantastic Four behind them, Harry Repoza got out of range of the gas, and removed his mask, then pulled out the small communication device that he and the rest of his team had used to keep in contact.

"Sir?" Harry asked, "Good news. All fifteen are in custody."

"Excellent." the voice on the other end said, "I assume it all went according to plan then, more or less."

"Just like you said, sir." Harry replied, "Still, I'll feel a lot better when you've managed to find a way of imprisoning this group."

"I've already found such a way." Harry's employer replied, "All you need to worry about is keeping them sedated and making certain they get to my transport ship on time. I'll contact you with the rest of your pay shortly after that."

Harry nodded a little, as he said "Drum out" and closed the communications device. From the looks of things, it was going to be a much better night than he'd thought.

* * *

When Harry Repoza got home that night, he was feeling pretty good about himself. The Avengers and the Fantastic Four had been captured in one fell swoop, and having left his outfit and weapons behind at headquarters, he was fairly certain nobody would recognize him as a kidnapper or a terrorist in any capacity. Quickly, he headed up the stairs to his apartment, unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing and locking it again behind himself for good measure. Whistling a little tune, Harry kicked off his shoes, and put them under his bed in the other room, then turned around, his intention being to head for the bathroom and take a shower before he fell asleep. However, as soon as he'd turned to face the bathroom, he found himself confronted with perhaps the most feared man in New York City. He was dressed all in black, with a mask over his face, and two small horns that protruded from it. From his belt hung a series of small devices, including a thick club and a length of sturdy-looking cord.

When Harry felt the powerful grip of Daredevil come down on his shoulder, his fear was undeniable, but it was still nothing compared with what he was about to experience. In moments, Harry's screams echoed throughout much of Manhattan.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away from Harry and his troubles, Victor Von Doom smiled as he looked over the specifications of the various cells he'd designed to contain the superhuman champions. Several cells were just basic titanium steel, while others needed a little adamantium or vibranium built into their construction to hold their inhabitants. The cell intended for Reed Richards had to be almost completely airtight to prevent him from squeezing out through an opening, and the cells for She-Hulk and the Thing were rubbery; the walls, floors and ceilings sturdy, but made of a material that gave, rather than tearing or bending. No pure physical strength could break free of those prisons.

The cell for the Human Torch was full of microscopic robots, that reacted instantly to changes in temperature, and the same was true of the cell that Doom had built for Crystal, except that hers was also made completely of wood, to prevent her from seizing control of it with her elemental powers. Black Bolt had been a challenge, since Doom hadn't been certain how far his vibrational control extended, but in the end, he'd designed a series of machines intended to draw all the vibrations out of a specific area once they reached a certain intensity. That, he thought, would probably be sufficient to hold the inhuman king. The Submariner, as it turned out, wasn't that hard to imprison as long as he was kept away from water. Iron Man's cell was bathed in a continuous, confined electromagnetic pulse, that kept the circuits in his armor from functioning, and as for Miss Marvel... She'd been another challenge. Because of her great strength, and her ability to move freely and quickly through the air, she probably would have been able to find some way to escape the rubbery cells that Doom had used to imprison others of great physical strength. In the end, Doom had decided to simply keep her sedated for a while, until he could discover some kind of weakness in her, and subsequently, a means of imprisoning her.

There was one cell, however, that Doom was especially proud of; the one that he'd designed to imprison Doctor Strange. In some ways, he was eager to see Strange's reaction to his imprisonment when he awoke. It wasn't as much that he wanted to watch Strange suffer, but Doom did have some desire to impress the skilled mage who'd taken the position of sorcerer supreme from him a while back, and what would impress a talented mage more than finding some way to undo his powers?

* * *

Steven Strange awoke with a splitting headache in a place that he didn't recognize, with no visible doorway or exit of any sort. The walls seemed to be a plain sort of brown, as were the floor and the ceiling, and that was when Strange realized what had happened. The drinks at the dinner must have been drugged somehow. It was low, but it was an easy way to catch the Avengers unprepared. Even so, Strange thought, whoever had poisoned him had made a big mistake in allowing him to regain consciousness. Quickly, Strange got to his feet, brushed himself off, and aimed one hand at the opposite wall, preparing to fire an eldritch bolt at it...

However, nothing happened. Something was wrong. Strange couldn't get any of his powers to operate properly. When he concentrated, trying to sense the magic at his center, he couldn't even feel it anymore. Even the enchanted items that he kept on his person at all times seemed to have stopped functioning. The Eye of Agamotto remained shut, and the scrying orbs that Strange kept on his belt showed him no visions. Even his cloak wasn't functioning, which meant that he couldn't levitate anymore. As Strange began to realize just what a dire situation he was in, he heard the voice of someone he'd once worked alongside; someone he'd thought that he'd never hear from again.

"It's impressive, isn't it?" Doom asked him through the concealed speakers in the room's walls, "This entire room is composed of a synthetic substance of my own design. I've named it Latverite, in honor of my people, but it's fairly expensive to make. For most people, it wouldn't be worth such an expense. It's not as strong as copper, it's heavier than gold, and it isn't lustrous at all, but it does have one special property that I'm certain you're now noticing."

"It blocks magic." Strange said aloud, dread forming in his heart as he realized what Doom was up to.

"Latverite doesn't simply block magic, Strange." Doom clarified, "It intercepts magical impulses within a fifty foot range, and weakens them. The more Latverite is used, the more it weakens magical impulses, and you're surrounded by it now. I doubt you'll be able to escape from there without any of your spells."

"What's this really about, Doom?" Strange asked angrily, not sure where to look when asking the question, or even if Doom could see him at all, "What do you want that you had to kidnap me to get it? Couldn't you have just asked me for a favor if you wanted my help with something?"

Doom paused when Strange asked him that. Though he'd resented Strange in some ways for being the second person to outdo him in mastery of a skill or ability, Doom wasn't too proud to admit that he could have benefited from Strange's help. In fact, it was the primary reason why Steven Strange was still alive. However, Doom also wasn't a fool, and he knew that Strange wouldn't agree to help him until he'd seen the truth for himself.

"I'd prefer to consider you an ally, rather than an opponent..." Doom admitted at last, "Believe me, Strange. I had no desire to keep you imprisoned... However, there are things I must do, for the sake of all mankind, and I'm afraid that you and your Avengers, and Reed Richards and his Fantastic Four; you'd all attempt to get in my way. I could fight you all if I chose to, but I'd much prefer to simply keep you here for now, until I can demonstrate the worth of my goals to you."

"I don't understand, Doom." Strange admitted at last, "What's so important that it's worth kidnapping me if you don't really want to?"

Doom felt very disappointed by the situation he'd found himself in, but he needed to explain himself for his own sake. Strange deserved his answer, and it was an answer he needed if he was going to understand any part of Victor Von Doom's motivations.

"You and Richards never understood why I was so driven to unravel the mysteries of the universe by any means necessary." Doom said at last, "Of course, neither of you could understand. As much as each of you knows about the nature of existence, you know next to nothing about true misery and suffering, under the heel of cruel, merciless men with power. You lack experience in that. I, however, know what it means to suffer; to know that I deserve respect and praise for my compassion and mercy, and yet, to receive only scorn and oppression from others in exchange. In the end, it becomes obvious to even the most pathetic dullard that kindness and compassion do not enable a man to achieve the respect he deserves, to control his destiny, or even to save people dying right in front of his own eyes. Such feelings and tendencies mean very little to those in positions of authority. Only power is recognized and honored among the mighty when a person wants to help end the unnecessary suffering of themselves and others. Discovering the richness of life is only the first part of the growth that human beings experience. Once they learn the meaning of life, it becomes clear that they must do as much as they can to crush those who could take away the very richness they've learned to appreciate. Then and only then can they feel as if they haven't been lax in their duties to their fellow man. Then and only then can they be justified."

"I haven't done any of those things, Doom." Strange insisted, "I never tried to take away any of your joys. Honestly, I didn't even know you felt that way."

"This has gone far beyond the simple rivalry that we once had, Strange." Doom replied, "You see, the moment I realized that I needed the power to crush my enemies if I wanted to get what I truly deserved, I started struggling forward in my life, learning all I could about the power that people have, and how it's acquired. I learned about loyalty and trust; about fear and military leadership. I learned about science, technology, and how to design and use weapons that could overwhelm my enemies, or else simply terrify them into surrender, and thus increase my power even further. Even so, as I learned all of those things, I never abandoned the nature of who I was. I never forgot the compassion that had driven me to such extremes to begin with; the strong soul that refused to let others die, if by sacrifice or hard work, he could prevent it. The whole time, I had one central goal; the conquest of the government in my own country. I knew that Vladimir, who ruled the nation of Latveria at the time, was responsible for killing many innocent people, and that his inept and selfish rule had placed the people of Latveria in continual poverty and misery for years. For centuries, no leader in Latveria had ever been able to rule the nation well, and I was determined to prove that it could be done; that leaders are not placed in power by God because they're qualified, but that they rise to power only by the merest of ill-fortunes, and I was going to make my own fortune; my own good luck. I was determined to prevail... Sure enough, I succeeded. I was able to conquer Latveria with the assistance of the discontented people of my homeland, and many of the soldiers of Vladimir himself. After that..."

Doom paused for several seconds, trying to determine how to phrase his next words; how to describe what he'd done with Latveria since his rise to power.

"At any rate," Doom continued, "it seems that it is, in fact, possible to rule with a fair and just hand, and that's what I've done for years. I feel great compassion towards the people of Latveria, which is why I help to guide the paths that their lives will take. Nearly all of them understand and appreciate my help and support, and there are over five hundred thousand of them. The people of Latveria are happy under my rule, Strange. I used to have many theories about why that was, but now I know precisely why. People live happily under the rule of Doom because Doom understands what they need, and is able to give those things to them. Medicine, education, rations, clothing, housing, honest work... All of the things that people need, I have provided to my people in a regular and reliable manner. The only thing that they give up in exchange is the idea of having true control over their own lives, and I think that most of them prefer to have less control. I did all of this because I felt pity and compassion for my people, Strange. I gave them what they needed to be happy and fulfilled because I felt for them. Having said that, I also feel compassion for all of mankind."

Doom fell silent after letting those words escape his mouth, to give Strange a moment to absorb them. It wasn't long before Strange started to understand the implications of what Doom was saying.

"No." Strange said, realizing in shock and horror what Doom was suggesting, "Doom, you can't just take over the whole world. That's insane!"

"Insane?" Doom asked, irritation rising in his voice, "Let me tell you what is insane, Strange. It is insane that over seventy percent of the people on Earth live in crushing, oppressive poverty. It is insane that with all the hunger, all the need, and all the discontent that goes on under the rule of world leaders, they spend their time making war on each other. It's insane that, in the world outside Latveria, life is not considered precious in all its forms, and neither man nor nature, but only wealth is treasured."

"Insanity, Doctor, is when fiery death consumes whole villages full of people who could have been dealt with using education and reason. Insanity is when religious fervor, moral arrogance, and the yearning for revenge cause whole generations of people to butcher each other based on nothing more substantial than their ancestry, and where they live. Insanity is when people fear to speak their minds in polite company, because their leaders are so insecure, that they seek to crush all contrary voices. Insanity is when women all over the world hire assassins to kill their own children before they can be born. Insanity is when the rich and fortunate lord their power and fame over the masses, instead of using it to help others, feeding off the blood, sweat and tears of the poor, like vampires in towering buildings guarded by money and technology. Don't speak to me of insanity, Strange." Doom concluded angrily, "Latveria is the only land that isn't awash in the blood of the innocent, and the insanity that comes with it. There's never been a time when people more sorely needed a just ruler than now."

"People don't need a ruler." Strange replied quickly, "All they need is for others to set a good example for them. For once, people need to know that not everyone is corrupt and wicked. They need to see people in their lives who demonstrate good conduct, and help one another. They need heroes."

Doom, however, was quick with his response.

"Strange, inspiration and example are wonderful ideas and concepts, and can be useful at times, but they aren't by any means reliable or universal. In order to be certain that things will work out, the just, the wise, and the brilliant must be the ones in control. My successes in managing the Latverian government have indicated that."

"It isn't about control, Doom." Strange insisted, "I don't serve mankind because I want to be certain that everything will be fixed. I do it because I hope that by doing my part to set an example, others will start to understand what needs to be done, and start doing right themselves."

Doom was silent for a few seconds as he contemplated what Strange had said. At last, when he spoke, however, his words were grim and final.

"I suppose that must be the difference, then. You're able to summon up hope for the future within yourself. I have no such ability. Unless I can ensure that these problems are solved, I've been lax in my duty to assist mankind."

At that point, the speakers turned off, and Strange shouted for Doom to come back for several more seconds, before he started feeling along the walls of his prison, looking for a way out.

* * *

That night, all of the major world leaders received unpleasant surprises. Small machines, about the size of apples had intruded into the central offices of each world leader, ignoring all attempts to detain or stop them. However, in the end, the machines did nothing more than deposit simple sheets of paper onto the desks of the world leaders.

Each sheet of paper was personalized; a letter intended specifically to apply to that world leader, but the messages they carried were very similar in some ways, no matter who they were addressed to.

"Greetings," the letters said, calling each of the world leaders by name, "My name is Victor Von Doom, and I am the ruler of Latveria. Until now, I've avoided joining in any governmental union, including the United Nations, but I haven't secluded myself from the world. As you've been leading your people in the way you chose to, I've been studying the planet Earth; its languages, its governments, and especially its leaders. Of course, I now know virtually everything about your time in office, though I suspect you know very little about me. It may surprise you to learn that Latveria, though ruled completely by me, does have one democratic function. I have fail-safes set in motion that would effectively force me to step down from office if more than fifty percent of my nation's population agreed to sign a petition to that effect. As of this date, not one person has been willing to sign that petition. Do you know why? It's not because they're lazy or busy, and God knows they're not afraid of retaliation. My people are faithful to me because they know that I've kept them safe, happy and fulfilled. I've done my job well as a leader, and so the people have supported me in my reign. Without their support, I don't think I would be as eager to rule them anyway. The love of my people is an essential element in my life; one I couldn't do without."

"I don't expect the people of Latveria to vote me out of office at any point in the future, of course. I expect to continue supporting my people, and doing a wonderful job of it. I expect them to continue trusting me as they have in the past, because of the work I do, and how well I do it. That is the role of a leader. Nevertheless, I keep that law, and that possibility of losing my position in place, and I have that law for a reason. You see, I believe that no leader, no matter how powerful, should be beyond accountability. I trust my people as they trust me. I trust them to know when I should be held accountable, and act on that. It's as good a system as I've ever seen in the whole world."

"Because I believe that no leader should be beyond accountability, I'm horrified by the fact that in the whole world, I am the only leader who has placed such a restriction on the terms of their own leadership. I've seen the people who suffer outside of Latveria, and I've made the decision to do something about it."

"Until that dark day when over half of my people are so dissatisfied with my rule, that they take action against me, I'm free to do as I please, both nationally and internationally, and it is with their support and assistance that I am now appointing myself to the position of political term evaluator of every nation on Earth. Those leaders who don't comply with this system, or design one of their own to protect their citizens, will be dealt with quickly. I have little patience for people who, in their foolishness, are determined to bring harm to others. That having been said, I will now begin with a thorough evaluation of your specific term or set of terms in office."

What followed after that in each letter was a series of very thorough descriptions of every action that the central leaders of the nations of the world had taken, and how those actions had impacted their people. After each action was listed, a short explanation was given about why the action had been right, or adversely, why it had been wrong. Needless to say, some descriptions were more heavy-handed than others, and at the end of a few of the letters, Doom even offered some condolences. However, in general, the leaders of the larger nations received much scorn in Doom's letters.

"I watched carefully from the very start of your term in office, waiting for any sign of willingness to act on behalf of your people," Doom said strictly in his letter to the president of the United States, "I never heard a word you said before or after the inauguration, because frankly, words are meaningless when action is so desperately needed. In your actions, what I've seen is a person determined to set aside the wellbeing of his people until he's certain that he can use bills, laws and edicts to force his citizens into living by his rules; rules, I might add, which do nothing to provide the poor or rich with what they truly need or deserve. Your efforts have been foolish, selfish, and shortsighted. You have no plan for the future of your nation beyond the next ten or fifteen years, except to pursue your own personal agendas in as big a rush as it takes to distract people from that lack of any concrete strategy. Worse yet, you mock and belittle merciful institutions openly, and advocate some of man's worst atrocities without shame. Thus far, I consider your term in office a failure."

The letter continued on in that way, going into further specifics for quite a while.

Other letters, to nations such as China, were even more severe in their descriptions and reprimands, containing such phrases as "You are single-handedly responsible for some of the most utterly barbaric practices, both in government and in the laws governing businesses, in the known world. Never has a nation's ruler sold his soul so completely to the devil for the profits and riches of other lands, with which to line your pockets, and yet, people in your nation starve in the streets and struggle to survive. You are guilty of the highest crime of all; treating human life as a simple resource to use up. For this reason, I have determined that virtually everything about your current governmental system must be torn down."

However, each letter ended on largely the same note.

"The people of the world deserve the chance to be ruled, not by those who've been spoiled by wealth, fame, and name association with other politicians, but by their best, brightest and most promising. Until such time as sufficient leaders are discovered for each of your nations, I am appointing myself global administrator of authority, and I will be the one to whom you will answer for all things. If you try to continue along this unjust path you've started taking, I have the power to seize control of your government by force. I would much prefer to resolve this matter peacefully, than with violence, but mark my words; I will see it resolved. This madness has gone on long enough. Step down graciously, and no harm will come to you."

Then each letter was signed with the name of Latveria's monarch, and stamped with the royal seal of Victor Von Doom.

* * *

The public response was quick, of course. It wasn't long before the media heard about the letters, and started asking questions about Doctor Doom; who he was, what he was capable of... They were especially concerned that someone who'd previously been so silent and far-away had suddenly made such large-scale and threatening announcements. It was worrying, but to the general public, Doom still seemed, at worst, to be a sort of distant threat.

The military, however, was taking the threat very seriously, as an announcement of Doom's intention to kidnap, or perhaps even kill the president. The highest-level military and espionage agencies in the world were notified of the threat at once. It was, after all, their job to keep the peace, and guard against international threats.

As government and military agencies were busy preparing to protect key world leaders, however, there were really only a few questions left in the minds of the public. What had happened to Miss Marvel? Where were the Avengers?

* * *

"Eugene Gorzenko." Daredevil almost growled into the face of the man he had by the suit collar. The man's name was Robert Clayman, and he was allegedly in charge of a small moving company; the same moving company that had rented out the trucks to the kidnappers who'd taken the Avengers and the Fantastic Four.

"I... I don't know what you mean!" Clayman said, "Wh-what do you want from me?"

"I want Eugene Gorzenko." Daredevil replied angrily.

"Wh-what does that have to do with me?" Clayman asked, scared out of his wits by that point.

"Three days ago, you rented three trucks to him, to be picked up, used and returned by his associates on the following night." Daredevil clarified, still furious, "Tell me where he is. Now!"

Clayman was horrified and desperate. Until that night, he'd never taken the rumors of a "Daredevil" seriously, much less expected him to come calling, looking threatening and furious.

"I... I don't know where he is." Clayman insisted, "He paid me in cash. That's the only reason why I even remember the guy you're talking about. I almost never see people pay for that kind of thing in cash. I didn't know anything was wrong with him. Honest!"

"Did his associates pick up the trucks here?" Daredevil demanded. Clayman just nodded in response.

"How many were there?" Daredevil asked.

"Three men." Clayman replied quickly, "I... I mean, there were three men who came in to tell me they were picking up the trucks, but..."

For a moment, Clayman paused, and when he continued, he was obviously worried that his next words were going to make him sound as if he'd been supporting Gorzenko in his efforts.

"It... It was a quiet night, so I heard some of what happened when they left." Clayman said, looking down at the floor as he spoke, "The trucks pulled out, then about halfway down the street, they stopped, parked for about a minute, and I heard the sound of a bunch of people running around, talking to one another a little, although I couldn't hear what they said exactly. Then, when they finished talking, the cars started pulling away. Now, I'll bet if you went down to the edge of the street, you might be able to find some evidence or something, but my guess is that they picked up a bunch of other guys there, when they thought nobody could hear them. Do you think that's...?"

However, Clayman would never get confirmation of his guess. By the time he looked back up from the floor, Daredevil was gone.

* * *

Daredevil removed one of his gloves for a moment, and ran his fingers along the pavement at the edge of the road, where the trucks had allegedly stopped. Sure enough, there were traces of dirt that had been left by people's shoes, as they walked around behind the trucks, and apparently got inside. It was all Daredevil needed to find to convince him that mercenaries had been involved in abducting the Avengers. Somehow, Gorzenko and his men had managed to drug the Avengers, then used the mercenaries to lug their bodies away, probably for transport somewhere. There was no sign that the Avengers had been killed, but then, there was no proof that they were still alive either. It was a dire kind of situation.

Of course, that was just the kind of situation where it was most important for everyone to keep a cool head. As a shinobi, the importance of remaining calm in times of crisis had been one of Matt Murdock's first lessons, and it was still one of his most important skills to have. It was because he was so experienced at keeping calm that Matt noticed the approach of a woman from behind. She'd done her best to disguise both her sound and her scent, but Matt's senses were much too advanced, and his skills were too great. Nobody could sneak up on him anymore.

"What did your investigation find?" Daredevil asked the moment that Widow was within earshot.

Trying her best not to act surprised, Widow replied "My investigation revealed that three vehicles picked up the unconscious Avengers at the dinner. Those three vehicles contained mercenaries whose job it was to carry the bodies. Most of them are in the hands of the police right now on charges of kidnapping, but I'm not certain how many were involved."

"Twenty." Daredevil said, still looking at the ground as he put his glove back on.

"In that case, all of them are now in custody." Widow responded, amending her previous statement, "Unfortunately, their ringleader seems to have escaped. Most likely, he accompanied the Avengers when they were abducted. It wouldn't surprise me, however, to learn that he was little more than a puppet of someone else."

"No need to beat around the bush." Daredevil replied as he stood up straight, "We all know this is Von Doom's doing."

"You aren't the only one who's drawn that conclusion, of course." Widow replied quickly, "There are many people who, right now, are very eager to invade Latveria and take Doom prisoner, although for more than one reason, that hasn't happened yet. Most of the world's nations are waiting to see what the United States and England will do about this threat, but the military resources of the U.S. are largely exhausted at this point, and the English military is concerned that Doom might not be a real threat to them, in which case they'd look like bullies if they attacked him."

"I hate to admit it, but politics don't interest me." Daredevil replied, "The real question we should be asking is how we're going to get into Latveria, get the Avengers out, and stop whatever Doom's planning."

"That is why I wanted to talk to you." Widow said sternly, "There are others who are preparing for a covert invasion of Latveria in the hopes of ending this threat under the political radar. However, Doom's defenses are some of the best on Earth, and we'll definitely need anyone we can count on to function as a skilled operative."

Daredevil paused for a moment to process what Widow was saying, but although she hadn't really asked a question, Daredevil had an answer for her.

"I hope that's your way of asking me if I'm in."

* * *

For the most part, the Avengers had woken up, and tried in vain to find a means of escape from the special cells they'd been trapped in. Doom had known about the special powers and weapons that they had ahead of time and drawn his plans carefully. After all, they were the Avengers, and aside from their personal identities, they didn't like to keep secrets from the general public.

Crystal, however, was a different story. She'd certainly put some effort into trying to find a means of escaping from her cell, but the real struggle was going on inside of her. She'd felt the wooden walls of her prison, and tried summoning flame once or twice, only to find that an invisible counter-force was preventing her from using her powers to free herself. That was just the start, however. Crystal couldn't feel any natural mineral or liquid elements nearby to draw upon, and whenever she tried to use the air in the cell as a weapon, the counter-force responded to that too. She wasn't certain how Doom had found a means of blocking off her powers so totally, but the wood that made up her cell didn't seem all that special, or that much sturdier than ordinary wood. It was connected to the surrounding wood so firmly, that there was no way Crystal could have pried it far enough apart to escape the cell, which was frustrating, because it meant that she was trapped, and had no way to know what had happened to the other Avengers, or what Doom was planning to do to her.

Obviously, Doom was responsible. As soon as she'd regained consciousness, he'd sent her a message, letting her know that for the time being, she and the other Avengers would be kept alive, and that if they learned to adapt and work for the true good of man (whatever that meant in his twisted mind,) they'd be able to live long and full lives. He wasn't keeping any major secrets from his captives at least. Still, what Doom had done had put Crystal up against a wall, because in spite of his assurances, she was very afraid for her life, and the lives of her colleagues.

Crystal hadn't been so afraid, since she'd faced the hordes of the Dark Dimension alongside Captain America and the others. It was, she knew, a hard decision to make. She had one means of escaping her cell that she was absolutely certain would work. However, if she used it, she was going to destroy almost everything in and around her cell, and she had no way of knowing where the other Avengers were imprisoned. If they were being kept anywhere near her cell, and she used her escape route, they'd be in no small danger. Even so, they were strong and courageous, and Crystal trusted them to cope with any dangers that came their way. The potential danger to her friends wasn't the real reason she hadn't tried to escape from the prison of Doom.

Crystal had a special ability that she'd never told anyone about since she'd discovered it herself. It was an ability that she was deeply afraid of, because she was worried about what it would do to her relationship with Johnny Storm. If he found out about it, he might be embarrassed or disgusted, and start avoiding her. It was the primary reason why Crystal had never used that ability when any other person might have been able to see her. In all the dangerous situations she'd been in, she'd hesitated to use that one special power that might have earned a quick or easy victory, because she was afraid of how people would react to her. A pointy-eared inhuman girl drew lots of attention as things were. She didn't want people to see her as some kind of monster. Crystal wrestled with those feelings for almost an hour and a half as she sat in that prison, waiting for news, and receiving none. At that point, however, she made a very important decision.

"No." she decided silently, "Wherever the others are, they're trapped just like I am, and even if they do see me as a monster; even if they never treat me the same way again, I have to save them. I can't be selfish and afraid anymore. I have to get up and do what it takes."

That was when Crystal made her choice. If she could keep the others from learning about her new ability, she would, but one way or another, she was going to save their lives. Quickly, she got to her feet, straightening up, and looking upward...

* * *

Namor was drained, exhausted, and feeling very, very weak. It had already been too long since he'd been exposed to water, and he was losing his sense of self. He knew that he had to get some water soon, but that once he did, he'd return for Doom's head.

However, in spite of his weakness, Namor couldn't help but feel the massive series of tremors that shook his entire cell for several moments. It sounded like numerous earthquakes, one after another, tearing up part of the castle, and from that alone, Namor assumed that either Black Bolt, She-Hulk, Miss Marvel, or the Thing had managed to escape. Still, Doom was resourceful, and he must have noticed the commotion. Whoever had escaped from the prisons he'd designed would soon be under attack.

Namor hardly dared to hope that whoever it was that had escaped would come for him first, and find a means of freeing him, but sure enough, just a moment after the tremors had started dying down, the whole front door of Namor's cell went flying off its hinges, the thick, metal doorway falling to the ground with a clang. There, standing in the empty doorway only a moment later was one of the Avengers. It was Crystal, and somehow, she'd managed to escape.

Of course, when Namor thought about it, it made sense. Crystal did have the power to make earthquakes. Namor hadn't been aware that she could do that without being able to see the ground itself, but he was glad she could, and he didn't question her being there at all. He was too eager to escape.

"Namor!" Crystal exclaimed, rushing forward to try to help him up, though by that point, he was too dehydrated to even stand upright, "Are you okay?"

"Too... too weak..." Namor muttered, "Water..."

For a moment, Namor's words confused Crystal, but then she remembered what Reed Richards had told her once about Namor's powers; how he drew his strength from water, and when he was hydrated, he was considered to be invincible. Unfortunately, Crystal didn't have much idea where to find water in that place. Again, there was an obvious solution, but in that instance, Crystal decided that it would be better to just try to find a water source. Since she had the power to control water, she could take it back to Namor if she found some.

Leaving the Submariner where he was, Crystal ran off down the hallway, until she found a water fountain attached to one of the walls. In delight, she used her powers to break it open, causing a jet of water to spray out of it, forming into a puddle on the floor. Then, making careful use of her inhuman abilities, Crystal caused the water to float into the air, and down towards Namor's cell. She directed more and more water towards him, as someone or something shut the water supply off from the other end, but it was too late. She already had enough to cover Namor almost completely, if she just...

However, just then, Namor flew right out of the cell, through the broken door, still looking faint, but obviously not weakened beyond reason.

"We don't have much time." Namor said to Crystal in a hurry, "The air in my cell was filled with a chemical solution that evaporates water, and now it's out here too. If we don't escape almost immediately, I'll be in exactly the same predicament I was before."

Crystal nodded, though she was a little confused on that point.

"How do we escape?"

Namor made no direct reply to that, instead grabbing Crystal in his arms, and rocketing directly upward with her, shattering stone and tearing through metal with his powerful shoulders. Crystal found, to her amazement, that so much of the ceiling was being knocked aside, that she didn't even need to use her powers to protect herself from the flying debris. At last, with one final burst of speed, she and Namor had emerged from the very top of the castle, and before anyone could stop them, they were flying out across the countryside as fast as they safely could, searching for the nearest body of water.

* * *

Ever since his diatribe about "fixing" the world's problems, Reed Richards hadn't heard much from Doom, although he'd suspected that Doom had a more personal vendetta against him. He certainly hadn't expected to be gassed again unless he escaped. Fortunately the knockout gas was administered gradually, and its effects were subtle at first, so Reed didn't suffer any injuries from it, although when he woke up, he was definitely in an unexpected kind of situation.

Reed Richards was lying on the floor of what looked like a throne room. There were a few guards, and a few servants nearby, going about their business, and in the center of one of that room's walls was a small throne, on which sat Victor Von Doom. He was, Reed realized, looking calm and relaxed, as if he were truly in no danger, and yet, Reed's strength was returning to him. He could feel that he had the power to confront Doom then and there, and yet, Doom still looked perfectly calm about the whole affair.

"Doctor Richards..." Doom began, but Reed was suddenly on his feet, his fingers stretching out towards Doom's eyes; the only part of him that was visibly exposed by his mask. Doom, however, just smiled as Reed lunged forward, and in a second, Reed's shadow had moved, rising up to block off his attack, and surrounding Doom from the front. Richards was clearly surprised by that, and as his shadow resumed its normal position, Doom spoke, still calmly.

"Don't think I would have invited you in here if I'd been unable to defend myself, Richards. I recently acquired an item of power with which I could, I believe, defeat you, and all of your champions. I only used poison for the purpose of being subtle. No one and nothing can get out of Castle Doom unless I wish it."

Reed was starting to lose hope again, but only because he didn't know the truth. Doom's last sentence had been a lie. He knew about the escape made by Crystal and the Submariner, and he was keeping a cannister of dehydration gas on him at all times because of that. Richards couldn't possibly have noticed that, however.

"In that case, why let me out of my cell at all?" Reed asked, "Why not just keep me in there?"

"Because there are things I want you to see." Doom replied, "I know that you're easily the most intelligent of all the champions I've captured. I want you to see what I've done; what I've built, and tell your friends about it. I'm certain they'll heed your words more than they've heeded mine."

"Maybe," Reed replied, "but why would I take your side in any of this?"

"Well, you won't;" Doom admitted, "at least not yet. I'll need to give you a full tour of Latveria first."

"In that case, I have one last question." Reed said, "What makes you think I won't take one of your citizens hostage in exchange for my freedom?"

"Because, like all my opponents and potential enemies, I've studied you for quite some time now, Reed Richards." Doom replied, "In addition to my own past experiences with you, I've gathered more recent information on you from a number of sources, and nothing in all my research indicates that you can justify brutality, even for the most desperate and essential of causes."

Reed fell silent when Doom said that. It was true, of course. Reed didn't have the ability to make a choice like that. He simply couldn't choose to end another human being's life; especially one who was innocent of wrongdoing. It was infuriating, but even though he'd been taken from his cell, Reed Richards was still trapped by Doctor Doom.

In spite of that, the two had much to discuss.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	21. Issue 21: Doom's Day Part 2

Tales From the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 21

"Doom's Day"

Part 2 of 3

* * *

For a while, Daredevil hadn't been sure what Widow had been planning. She'd gone into the back of a building to use a pay phone, and nobody was watching when she dialed a number, then stepped back towards Daredevil's location.

"Now what?" Daredevil asked curiously.

"Someone will be by in fifteen minutes." Widow replied. "We're to go with them."

Daredevil wasn't sure he liked that idea, but sure enough, a few minutes later, a car pulled up to where the two of them were standing, having drawn quite a bit of attention already from the surrounding people. The windows were very darkly tinted, with the exception of the windshield, of course, and almost at once, one of the back doors of the car opened up, inviting Widow and Daredevil to take a seat inside. However, there was already someone in the car when they got in. Daredevil took the middle seat, and Widow the one closest to the door they'd entered by. In a way, both were very curious, since neither one of them had ever met the man who was sitting on the car's other side. He was dressed in a fine suit, and he was white with brown hair. When he spoke, his voice was friendly and kind, but Daredevil could tell from his posture that the man never let down his guard.

"Daredevil. Widow." the man said with a smile, "Nice to meet you."

"I'm not sure what's going on." Daredevil admitted.

"Well, this whole car is soundproof, so I don't see any reason not to tell you, while we return to HQ." the man in the suit replied with a grin, "You see, I represent a... Well, an agency, I guess you could call it. We have the job of dealing with large-scale international threats, and we believe..."

"You mean the DOD." Daredevil said quickly without any sign of being impressed, "I should warn you, I've had dealings with their agents before, and in my opinion, their methods left much to be..."

"No." the man interrupted, "We're not the Department of Defense."

Daredevil fell silent when the man said that, but he still didn't register much emotion when he replied.

"So what's the name of the agency you work for?" Daredevil asked, adapting quickly to the unexpected news.

"I'm afraid I can't reveal that." the agent replied.

"If you're going to keep secrets from me, how do you expect to obtain my help?" Daredevil asked, at which point, the agent leaned back and sighed.

"If the general public ever found out about this particular agency, they might be frightened by its very existence." the agent said, "You see, it's a type of espionage and military agency that exists as a collaborative effort between virtually all the nations of the UN."

"I can't say I'm surprised that news would upset people." Daredevil said after only a moment, "Multinational military organizations have a history of falling apart when one or more of the nations involved pulls out, and the more powerful the agency, the bigger the damage when it fails. I'm surprised something like that is even being tried."

The agent's eyes opened a little wider when Daredevil said that. He was surprised that Daredevil knew that much about the history of the military, in and between various nations. It wasn't exactly classified information, but most people didn't pay close attention to things like that.

"Actually, it's been tried." the agent said, "Past tense. Our agency has been operating effectively since the end of the second world war."

At that point, it was Daredevil's turn to be surprised. He certainly hadn't been expecting to hear that, and he fell silent again, giving the agent a chance to explain.

"My name is Frances Mcneil, and I'm not a very high-ranking member of the agency, as I'm sure you've guessed. However, just making it in has been like a dream for me. This is probably going to be the high point of my career. You see, you can't even make it into the agency without being skilled in something to the point where the agency heads are able to treat it like a superhuman power."

"Ninjitsu." Daredevil observed, but Frances just shrugged.

"I'll bet a few members of the agency used to be Shinobi, but mostly, we don't learn our skills or abilities from any one discipline. Disciplines are too easy to replicate, and if we could learn them so easily, so could anyone. We do need to learn self defense, of course, but nobody makes it into the agency based on that alone. We also need a special skill of our own; something that we developed, that nobody else can imitate."

"So what's your special skill?" Daredevil asked, at which point, smiling, the agent started to fade from sight. In only seconds, he was utterly invisible, and Widow's pulse started to go up. Daredevil, however, hadn't noticed much change. A few things about the agent's body chemistry had been altered a little, but as Daredevil was blind anyway, invisibility didn't even register with him.

"I guess I'm not sure what you just did." Daredevil finally said as the man turned visible again.

"It's a chemical change in my body, caused by my force of will, and my desire to remain unseen." Frances replied, "I've been on too many missions where stealth was the watchword, and I guess I picked up on how to turn invisible during those."

Daredevil still wasn't obviously impressed as the car came to a stop.

"So what exactly is your agency planning?" Daredevil asked, "How is any of this supposed to help the Avengers?"

"We believe that the men who kidnapped the Avengers were receiving their pay from Victor Von Doom, who's the king of a nation called Latveria. Now, because he's the ruler of an entire nation, he's technically a world leader, and the administrator of all laws within his nation. Therefore, if we oppose him in his own nation, we've broken the law. Furthermore, Doom technically qualifies for protection under modern diplomatic immunity laws, regardless of the fact that he's never approached the United States or any other nation in a diplomatic capacity. Now, since our agency doesn't officially exist, we're in a position to take action against Doom and help you rescue the Avengers, if they're still alive, but we need to act quickly, and with some subtlety, before Doom determines what we're up to."

"So you're planning to land a team in Latveria, break out the Avengers, and take down Doom," Daredevil correctly concluded, "and from the sounds of things, you'd like Widow and I to join you."

"Yes. That's a decent summary of our plan." Frances admitted, "Of course, you'll need to be briefed on the special skills of the other members of our team. All of them will be agents picked from our... group."

"I take it no real superhumans are available." Daredevil said as the three of them got out of the car, and walked into the nearest building with Frances in the lead.

"Well, we don't work with real superhumans very much, because they tend to get arrogant, and don't usually have a lot of experience in physical training as a result." Frances replied, letting a machine in the first room scan his thumb print, "There is a project underway to create a government-sponsored team of superhumans, but we don't really expect it to work out. That's not to say that no Avengers would be able to make it in the agency, however. In fact, I'd say that both Captain America and the Mole Man would have a fairly easy time getting in, and with some work, we'd even think about accepting Hawkeye. We just like to stay away from people who haven't earned their special powers. It's not a rigid guideline, and it's not an agency rule, but in the past, it has been a wise policy."

"So who are we working with?" Daredevil asked as the secondary door opened up in front of them, but the question faded into nothing as he looked into that room, and saw the people who'd been gathered in that place. For the first time in many months, Daredevil wondered if he might be in over his head.

* * *

"To start with, this place is Castle Doom." Doom began, "I think we may as well start off the tour here. It's the castle where I live, and the place from which I govern the rest of Latveria. It resides in Latveria's capital, which is currently known as Doomstadt. Truthfully, though, the framework of the castle was erected long before I was even born. I took it, like the country itself, from the hands of King Vladimir, who ruled before me."

Reed felt very much like replying to that, but he knew that Doom wouldn't react well to interruptions, and he certainly wasn't finished speaking.

"Of course, I've made many special modifications to the castle over time, using my technology and the metal ores mined throughout Latveria. For the most part, I wanted to do two things to my castle; make it easier for my subjects to navigate, and harder for my enemies. I'd say I've succeeded pretty well in both of those attempts."

In that instance, however, Reed did speak up.

"You're saying that you conquered this country, and used the resources that the people gathered to make a fortress for yourself." Reed concluded aloud, "I can't say I'm impressed by that, Doom."

Doom looked surprised at first, but relaxed again after just a moment, before replying.

"I suppose it does sound like that, doesn't it? That's not quite true, however. Vladimir was a dangerous lunatic who controlled the people of Latveria with the fear that they'd be executed if they didn't do his will. Since I came to power, that fear is gone. I think you'll agree that he had to be overthrown, and the fact that I received the cooperation of the Latverian people in doing so has to carry some weight, even with you."

"You started a civil war, then appointed yourself king." Reed said, but Doom looked away in disappointment when he heard that.

"Nothing of the sort. The people of Latveria had been on the brink of civil war for years, eager to rebel against the king and his men. All they needed were the weapons to acquire justice over their oppressors, and gain the chance for freedom, and a central figure to symbolize their cause and give them the hope that they could prevail. I gave them those weapons. I was that figure of hope. At first, the people were skeptical of me, because of my armor, and my appearance, but soon, they realized that I could save them from the tyranny of the king, so they started forming into an army at my back, and I marched on the king's castle, taking his life and his throne."

"At that point, you decided you should be in charge." Reed said, though his words almost sounded desperate by that point, searching for a grain of true corruption in Doctor Doom.

"At that point, Doctor Richards," Doom continued, "the people of Latveria knew that they needed a leader. Unless they could organize, the farming wouldn't get done, people wouldn't have jobs, and in time, Latveria would become a simple no man's land. They rushed to appoint a new ruler for themselves; someone who they knew that they could trust. I will confess that their decision was to my liking, and I made no attempt to dispute it, but I never raised a single weapon against those who'd supported me; only against my enemies."

"Of course, in rising to power, I knew that it was necessary for me to find a means of solving all of the problems that people had..." Doom continued, "I knew I needed to give my people good lives. After all they'd done to help me, it was my duty. Because of that, I applied my every resource to that goal, and found, at last, that the people of Latveria were happy with the way their lives were run. They would still come to me with requests from time to time, but for the most part, they were content with the lifestyles that I'd supplied them with. There was no more oppression in Latveria; no more doubt, conflict, or terror. People in my nation were living as people were meant to live; honestly and cleanly, working for the support of the whole, and receiving all that they needed in exchange. They were content with that. Even I was surprised by how easy it was to achieve that equilibrium, and establish a place in which all of my people could be happy."

* * *

For the next several hours, Doom took Reed Richards with him on a tour of Castle Doom, then the surrounding lands. Towns, fields and industrial buildings passed them by, as Doom showed Reed firsthand how he'd resolved issues of education by developing a new means of educating his people; a standardized education process that applied to children and adults alike. Doom described it as "the cornerstone in the bridge of society," because if people weren't properly educated in mathematics, reading, science, and ethics, they could never be depended on to create anything worthwhile.

Doom showed Reed how his schools had sought to teach the truth; the needs that all humans have, the values that are most helpful in supporting those needs, why they have value; how supporting one's fellow man could bring to his people a great joy from within themselves; the feeling that they were contributing to a greater whole; to a cause that mattered. On that foundation, Doom had built everything else in Latveria.

The laws were enforced, on the rare occasions when they were broken, by a fleet of artificial life forms designed by Doom. Most of them resembled he himself, and carried out his wishes without question. He'd even been able to give them, as he put it, "enough intelligence to successfully manage a small country in my place." Their job was to seek out problems, and correct them, although banishment from Latveria was used to punish criminals far more often than death. Short-term imprisonments, however, were the most common type of punishment in the country. The justice system was explained quickly; how information was gathered, testimony was considered, and then conclusions drawn based on the available evidence. Judgments were usually swift, with the severity of the punishment hinging on the severity of the crime. No complaints had been leveled against that method since it had been implemented, however, which surprised Reed Richards more than a little bit. Either Doom had some infallible means of knowing who was really at fault in a criminal case, or else, his people simply trusted him enough, that his judgments were accepted, even by the families of those he imprisoned or banished. In the end, Reed had one important question to ask regarding law enforcement in Latveria.

"What option do people have if they want an appeal on a judgment that's been rendered?" Reed asked.

"They have the option to come to me with their complaint. I would, in theory, give their complaint all the consideration it deserves, and if a mistake had been made, I would correct it by my royal authority."

"In theory?" Reed asked.

"Well, no one's ever needed an appeal." Doom replied with a slight shrug, "The people of Latveria seem to appreciate the way that I do things for some reason; perhaps because they know I'm right, and understand the importance of justice, from all the times I've protected them."

Reed needed to sit on his worries over that reply, as Doom showed him the fine residential buildings, in which the citizens of Latveria lived; the places where they worked, played and celebrated. In the end, Doom held a meeting, in which Reed was offered the chance to meet and speak with any of the citizens he'd seen that day, and sure enough, every last one of them seemed happy and fulfilled; each with little or no reservations about talking with him, and even expressing their personal feelings about what Doom had done with Latveria. They all seemed appreciative of Doom's work; considering him a benefactor and a savior, rather than a ruler, and if any of them were being insincere, they were very good actors. Already, Reed was starting to see that there were going to be problems fighting with Doom. Even if he and the others managed to escape from Doom's prisons and defeat him, they'd be robbing the people of Latveria of the person who'd made them happy, and given them the chance to live their lives without doubt, hate, or oppression. It was a perplexing moral dilemma.

When Reed and Doom finally got back to the throne room, Reed Richards couldn't help but feel a little sad. He wanted someone to talk to about the things he'd seen, and he knew exactly who it was that he wanted to take into his confidence. The only question was whether Doom would be willing to do him a favor, just like that.

"So what's next?" Reed asked suspiciously, as Doom led him back towards the center of the throne room.

"At this point, you'll need to make a decision, Doctor Richards. If you decide, even after all you've seen today, that I'm a madman who must be stopped, I'm afraid that you, at least, must be prevented from interfering in my work, by whatever means are necessary. If, however, you decide that my mission is a noble and merciful one, then you're quite free to join me in my cause, and to help me encourage the others to that effect."

"What?" Reed asked, confused, "You're seriously asking me to join you? I never expected to hear that, Doom. Especially not after what happened at Columbia... You made it sound like you thought I was at fault for what happened."

Doom's eyes narrowed, however, when Reed mentioned Columbia, though his reply was swift and calm.

"I still believe that what happened was your doing, Richards. I bear you no further malice for that, however. After all, we were young, and I'm certain you saw me as competition. I think, if anything, it was that competition that I truly disliked; the idea that you might be trying to prove your superior knowledge and skill over me. If you're put to death for trying to start an insurrection, you'll never put anyone else in that position. However, if you agree to help me, and to serve under me, the issue of who is a more gifted scientist will have been resolved to my satisfaction, so that's what I'm most earnestly hoping for. Swallow your pride, Richards, and accept the path to true peace, that only I can offer."

"Then you're saying you're not angry anymore, over what happened." Reed attempted to confirm.

"I bare no true grudges against anyone." Doom replied casually, "I admit that my pride was badly wounded when you claimed that the accuracy of your calculations exceeded mine, but I have suffered other such wounds since then, and come to realize the truth about myself. You see, Doctor Richards, I think that it's been a very long time since I've truly hated anyone. For me, the act of learning, and mastering the martial arts was sufficient to teach me a deep, inner calm. I still feel anger with people at times, of course, and I still express that anger in as fearsome a way as befits Doctor Doom, but in the end, it's only people's actions and choices to work against me, and against my goals that upset me. Because that anger isn't really towards the person, and because it would fade, if that person made different choices, I've found that the fairest way to go about things is to offer the one who's angered me a single chance to make reparations. Once they realize who I am, and what I'm capable of, they're most often eager to do so. There have been hurt feelings between us in the past, Doctor Richards, but I'm willing to move beyond that if you are. Show me that you can be trusted, and your place in my kingdom will not be in question."

"While I'm making this vital decision, where do you want me to stay? Do you want me to make the choice right here in front of you?"

"I'd prefer it," Doom replied, "but if you need more time to think, I can certainly understand. In that case, I'm afraid you'll have to be taken back to your cell again, until you're ready to make your decision. It doesn't make me happy, but I'm still not sure if I can trust you yet."

"So you're going to knock me out again and put me back in there..." Reed realized aloud, "I have to ask you for one thing, then. Can Sue stay with me while I make my decision? I don't like to make important choices without someone to talk to about them."

Doom looked down for a moment, then looked away. At last, he spoke, and he sounded more amused than anything.

"You know, now that you mention it, I don't see the harm. After all, it's not as if either of you has the ability to break out of an airtight prison. Very well, then. I'll have that arranged, and when you wake up again, you'll have the chance to talk with her."

Just a moment later, Reed started to feel lightheaded, as he realized that one of Doom's drugs was taking effect. In moments, he knew, he was going to be unconscious and vulnerable again, and the only hope he had was that Doom was a man of his word.

* * *

For miles and miles, Crystal had flown through the air in the arms of the Submariner, until they finally arrived at a large lake. In a flash, he'd deposited her on the ground, and dove underwater, and in moments after that, Namor has risen back up into the air, feeling his muscles increasing to their prime once more. He was at his best once again. He was the Submariner; the greatest champion of the oceans.

As Namor landed back on the bank of the lake, Crystal was amazed by the change he seemed to have undergone. While they'd been flying, he'd looked pale, and his skin had started to become shriveled, especially on his fingers, as if he'd just been dumped into a barrel of salt. Crystal had noticed that about him, but the difference was all the more pronounced in that moment, when he emerged from the water, once again at his best. Since his recent contact with the water, and escape from Doom's chemical agents, the Submariner's muscles had begun to look larger and more pronounced, though he was still a fairly slim person. His ears pointed straight up, just like hers, and his expression had grown sharper. His skin had smoothed back to normal, and was even starting to glisten, though that might, Crystal realized, have been just because of the moisture. It was easy to see how such a person could once have threatened the entire Fantastic Four. However, there was one thing about the Submariner that Crystal had found confusing when she'd seen him in action in the past.

"Some people think you're invincible." Crystal noted, "That's not true, though."

"No." Namor replied a little sadly, "Without water, my strength diminishes over time, until I'm no stronger than an ordinary man. In the water, I've never met a foe who was stronger than me physically, but I do have many weaknesses."

Crystal nodded once, although she was still a little confused.

"So you just have to touch water?"

"If any amount of water, as large as a single drop touches my skin, and is absorbed into my body, my injuries fade, my senses are heightened, and my strength increases beyond anything or anyone I have ever seen, including the Avengers. As long as I'm in contact with water, my physical might is without peer. That is the real reason I wanted to escape from the castle. I implore you not to think of me as a coward because we ran, and left the others behind."

"No. No, it's alright." Crystal said quickly, "There was nothing you could have done back there in your condition. I understand, and I don't think you're a coward. You're just prudent. That's all."

Namor felt the words ring a little hollow to his ears until he actually turned to look at Crystal again, and saw that she was looking back at him in absolute, serious sincerity. It surprised him.

"Why do you not feel betrayed?" Namor asked, amazed and concerned, "Why do you not react with worry to the dangers your friends are in?"

"There's no point worrying about things like that until we can do something about it." Crystal replied simply, trying her best to put on a smile.

"A human woman would not have had the maturity to make such a choice." Namor muttered under his breath, pausing for a moment before he continued, "I did not know that people such as yourself existed above the surface."

"Well, we haven't exactly talked much since we joined the Avengers." Crystal admitted, "I suppose I just wanted to give you some space. You always seemed so reserved, like you wanted people to leave you alone. I wanted to respect your wishes."

Namor's worry and suspicion started to melt, however, as he realized just how carefully Crystal had been considering the feelings of the other Avengers. It was, he realized, something which even he was not very good at. In fact, until just recently, he'd had very little reason to take the personal feelings of others into consideration when he made his decisions. In a position of command, one couldn't afford to, and he was, after all, the king of Atlantis. However, as a member of the Avengers, he was more often following orders than giving them, and in that kind of capacity, he was slowly starting to realize, there might be better ways to act; just like Crystal had shown him.

Of course, there was more to it than that. Naturally, Namor saw Crystal with Johnny Storm all the time, so he hadn't really thought of her emotionally, but when he was alone with her, Namor could see that she was really very lovely, both inside and out. Some might have found her ears, or her powers to be too strange, but for Namor, both were comforting, since in a way, they mirrored his own unusual physical traits and special powers. Even so, however, Namor dared not concern himself with the idea of romance, because he knew that he wasn't the right kind of person for her. She would undoubtedly seek a more compassionate soul; someone who could be counted on to care for her, and be there for her. It was the closest that Namor had ever been to feeling unworthy of anything, and it was such a powerful feeling, that he attempted, just once, to be a bit more like Crystal herself.

"Were you hurt during our escape?" Namor asked, trying to look concerned. The expression of shock that spread across Crystal's face at that point was sudden, however, and it disappeared just as suddenly, changing into relief and delight.

"I'll be alright." Crystal said, "Thank you. Were you hurt?"

"Yes," Namor replied, "but I've recovered."

However, at that point, Namor fell silent, and closed his eyes. He needed to remind himself that there were still important matters to take care of. He needed to remember his duty. When he opened his eyes again, there was determination on his face.

"We need to return to the castle and rescue the other Avengers. Once we're all together again, we can begin to take action. I already have a plan, however. If you can, I'd like you to use your powers over the minerals in the ground, to make something for me out of metal."

* * *

When Reed Richards woke up, he was back in his cell. Sure enough, it was just as solidly-build as it had been before, and just as impossible to escape from, but there was a change. A few yards away, on the floor, Sue Storm was waking up as well.

"R-Reed!" Sue exclaimed, "What's going on here?"

Reed wasn't sure how to explain that for a moment. It was certainly very complicated. In fact, in many ways, granting Reed's request was the most complicated thing Doom could have done. Reed had a lot of work to do, and a surprisingly difficult decision to make.

"I spoke with Doom a short while ago." Reed finally said, "He agreed to let us talk to one another. He... gave me a decision that he wanted me to make."

Sue still didn't understand what was going on, however, so after a few more moments, Reed tried to explain.

"The truth is, Doom wants to rule the world, because he thinks it'll make people happy." Reed said, looking back up at Sue, "I don't like to admit it, but he has a lot of evidence that he's right. He wanted me to help him; to join him in his kingdom."

"I don't understand." Sue said, looking at Reed in confusion, "Why you? Why would Doom ask you specifically? It can't just be your special powers. I mean, he didn't ask me."

"This has nothing to do with my powers." Reed admitted after just a moment, "You see, I used to know Victor Von Doom, before he became the king of Latveria."

Sue looked amazed, and very curious when she heard that, so Reed decided to explain a little further.

"Well, you know that I first entered college at fourteen, right?" Reed asked. Sue just nodded quickly, so Reed continued.

"It was after I'd first met Ben. I was nineteen, and I was moving on to Columbia University, hoping to get more time to study physics, and work on my own theories in the meantime. Well, my former college professors recommended me so highly, that I was placed in a special dormitory, which was almost totally soundproof. It was designed to give students more of an opportunity to study, and I got that opportunity, but I wasn't the only one living in that section of Columbia. That was where I met Victor Von Doom for the first time."

"It seems like Doom was something of a prodigy. He'd been born and raised in the nation of Latveria, but he never said much else about himself, except that he had important experiments in genetics and cybernetics, that he was working on for the United States government. For all I know, he might really have been working with the government. He was certainly bright enough. He attended Columbia with me at that point. I asked a number of people at college about him later on, and the answer I usually got was that he'd been recommended into Columbia by the Department of Defense. I admit, I felt a little jealous of him when I heard that. He was a young man who'd started off in another nation, and just been so gifted, that he'd been a prize worth crossing oceans for, in the eyes of whole governments. I never got that kind of attention."

"Anyway, Doom spent almost all of his extracurricular time at college in private, working on experiments of his own. I tried to start up conversation with him a few times, but I felt like he wasn't really listening to me when I spoke to him. I think he got bored with my attempts to be his friend after a while. He always seemed to have something on his mind that drove him away from friendships."

"I guess I never really understood Doom. It was like he just didn't consider normal human interaction to be a priority in his life. Of course, we were on fairly even footing in class, and we both pointed out the flaws in the scientific theories proposed in the past, as well as offering new theories of our own, designed to explain the evident facts. Most of the time, we arrived at exactly the same conclusions. I guess it's true what they say about great minds. I think many of our professors at Columbia felt like they were being put on the spot whenever Doom was in the room, though. I tried to be gentle when I pointed out the mistakes that scientists had been making in the past, but Doom was very direct and assertive with his criticisms. When our physics professor tried to explain inflationary universe theories, he practically threw a fit."

"Wow." Sue muttered, "Why would anyone get so mad, just because of something they learned in science class?"

"Well, it didn't exactly make me happy either." Reed admitted, "The fact is, Doom was convinced that none of the theories the professor was describing were founded in actual scientific fact, and that because of that, our professor was wasting his time teaching us pure nonsense. Doom told me, more than once, that he believed the purpose of science was to understand how the world works, in the hope of being able to guide its natural forces some day. He told me that most of the modern scientific community, at least in America, existed only to try to comfort people, and make them feel good about their own rotten conduct."

"That's a big accusation." Sue said, at which point, Reed sighed and looked away.

"I never would have made that kind of accusation because I've never liked the idea of accusing whole groups of people of something that isn't legally a crime," Reed said, looking sad as he spoke, "but the truth is, I understand what he was talking about. There are far too many scientists who base their research on grants, rather than on facts. Those scientists get lots of money for research, but their research hardly ever turns up anything useful. In a way, I can see why Doom would find that frustrating."

"Doom didn't seem like a bad kind of person at the time. He was a little proud, of course. With his gifts, he had a right to be, but in general, he seemed like a nice enough person, and he was known for stepping in and preventing hallway fights. I even saw him asking people if they were alright after the fact. I think that Doom was both very compassionate with people he thought were helpless or in need, and also passionate about the things he believed in. There was no mistaking him for a local. He had no trace of the relativistic mentality that seems to penetrate every level of American society at this day in age. Aside from his lack of interest in friendships, I think he could have been the best person I'd ever met."

"Of course, even when he made our college professors feel antsy, at least they were glad that he'd attended class. Doom had never missed a class in all the time that he'd attended Columbia, until one day, I went to six classes, and never saw Doom in even one of them. The two of us took a lot of the same classes, and I'd been expecting to see him in at least three, so I asked the teachers to try to find out whether he'd called in sick. They weren't sure why he was absent, but they'd mainly let it slide."

"The next day, though, he was absent again, and the day after that. At that point, I wanted to check up on him, so I knocked on his door once, and he invited me to come in. As soon as I opened the door, though, I could see that he was hard at work, sitting at his desk, scribbling equations on various pieces of paper. I was shocked when I saw that; not just because Doom was so involved in his work, that he'd forgotten three days worth of classes, but because I understood what his formulas meant. Doom was experimenting with dimensional shifts."

"I had no idea why someone like Doom would want to cross over into another aspect of existence. As far as I could tell, he only wanted to see if he could. The problem was, I'd been using controlled energy waves to feel out a few things about numerous dimensions in my own experiments, and when I saw the dimension he was planning to contact, I was worried. My computer had only scanned that dimension for a fraction of a second, but I knew that it was unstable, and difficult to detect, and that the contents of that dimension were superheated, like the inside of a star. In that kind of environment, Doom wouldn't have been able to survive."

"Naturally, I knew that science involved a lot of research, and I wasn't certain that Doom had researched that dimension well enough, before planning a journey there. I tried to bring it up with him, but I get the feeling that he thought I was trying to interfere with something very personal to him. He immediately took offense at my suggestion, and asked me to leave."

"I didn't see Doom for the entire rest of that week, or the week after that. His teachers were worried about him. I was a little worried about him too, I guess, but I hadn't expected him to cause as much damage as he did. On the Tuesday of the third week since the last time I'd seen Doom, there was an explosion from the direction of his room. Fire and ash were sent flying out the windows, and through walls and doors, utterly destroying that entire section of the dorms. I knew what had caused the explosion, though, even before the official investigations were complete. Doom had made a mistake, and one of his machines had failed to do what it was designed for."

"I found out later that Doom had been trying to contact the same dimension I'd tried to warn him about, and the heat and unstable energy patterns had damaged his machine. The explosion had been caused by an overheating power source, and Doom's entire face had been badly scarred by the incident. The doctors said that he'd probably never look the same again. They suggested plastic surgery once, but Doom scoffed at them, citing numerous scientific studies, which provided evidence that plastic surgery was not always safe or effective, and he didn't want to run that kind of risk. As he was, Doom was scarred, but he was still healthy and alive. It was obvious, of course, what was going to happen next. Once his friends in the DOD heard about what had happened, they'd want him to leave that school, and I was sure that the dean would too. It was sad, because he really was too intelligent to have wasted it all on such a simple mistake. I didn't want him to think I didn't care what happened to him though, so a few days later, when he was allowed to receive visitors, I stopped by to offer my sympathies."

"I brought Doom a book on cultural and scientific history, in the hopes that it would make him feel better about what had happened, but almost the moment I stepped into the room, he sighed and leaned back in bed. His face was still covered in bandages, and he seemed to be angry in a sort of subdued way. When I offered him the book, it seemed like I touched a nerve of some kind."

"'How much did that book cost you?' Doom asked me, 'A few dollars? Ten or fifteen? Maybe thirty at the very most? Is that enough money to wipe the stain of guilt from your soul?'"

"I was shocked by his reaction. He was obviously blaming me for something, but I had no idea what, so I asked him what I'd done wrong. He didn't answer me directly. Instead he said 'I don't understand why you'd do something like this, Richards. I saw in your eyes, how you recognized the formulas for my experiment. You knew how sensitive the entire process was. Was it only because you were afraid that I might steal away your position as star student? Is that any reason to destroy someone?'"

"Of course, I tried to explain that I hadn't tampered with any stage of his experiment, but he refused to believe me. He was totally convinced that I'd sabotaged his formula, and ruined his experiment. Doom left the country just a little while after that, leaving no word to the DOD, or anyone else on where he'd gone, exactly. At this point, though, I'm convinced that he spent some time in another country, designing technology to conquer his home nation of Latveria with. That's where we are now. Doom found a way to abduct and imprison the world's most powerful superhumans, and now, I'm sure that he plans to take control of the entire world."

"Are you saying that he kidnapped all of us just to get revenge on you?" Sue asked in disbelief.

"No." Reed replied, "That'd make my choice a lot easier. You see, Doom claims that he wants to put the past behind him. For all I know, that might even be true. He talked to me just a little while ago, and showed me what Latveria was like under his rule. It's... Well, it's different from what we're used to, Sue. There's no freedom out there. Everything is run on a single, perfectly-controlled system, but because that system is so totally controlled, it... works. People get enough to eat, enough to drink, they get enough sleep, and they work just the right amount. Everyone has a place to live, no one starves, and no one's out of a job. All the people I met out there seemed genuinely happy. To lots of people, a life under Doom would be almost heavenly."

"Reed..." Sue muttered, worry in her voice, as she heard those words, "What are you saying?"

"Doom wanted me to choose whether or not to help him," Reed replied quickly, "but that's not an easy choice to make anymore, honey. We were never exactly friends, but I never thought that he really wanted to hurt anyone until he kidnapped us, and there's a real possibility that he might be able to save billions of people from suffering and death if he winds up in power over the world. We could be doing the human race an enormous disservice by trying to stop him."

Sue was silent for several seconds, but at last, she seemed to have made an important decision of her own, and she spoke up with strength and confidence.

"Reed, did Doom tell you how many people died when he took control of Latveria?"

Reed's expression quickly became one of stunned disbelief, as he shook his head, angry at himself.

"How could I have been so blind?" he asked, "Thank you, Sue. You're right."

Sue just smiled. Reed had immediately noticed the point she'd been trying to make; that as many people as he'd fed, and as much as he'd helped give them fulfilling lives, Doom's rise to power in Latveria had been built on war, and all wars lead to death. No matter what you do or who you help while you're alive, it's wrong to kill someone, because killing someone is the farthest thing from helping them, and when you kill someone, they're dead for good. Doom may have done a lot of good since his rise to power, but there was nothing more evil than large-scale murder, and there can be no better definition for war. To say that war could ever be justified went against everything that Reed believed in, and even if Doom saved billions of lives once he was in power, none of that was sufficient justification for starting a third world war. Reed hadn't faced as much death in his life as Doom had, but thanks to Sue, he'd been reminded that starting a war was something that couldn't be justified. Reed had been shaken when Doom had shown him all the good he'd done, but the price was too high. He'd made his decision.

"Doom!" Reed exclaimed angrily, "You can forget it! I don't believe in using war to solve people's problems. That's why I went to that diplomatic dinner to begin with. It's always wrong to murder and rob people of their freedom, no matter how many people you save. I won't help you terrorize the world."

Then, in that moment, Doom's voice came back in over the speaker, and he sounded genuinely sad when he spoke.

"I was afraid you were going to wind up making that decision. I'm sorry, Richards, but for the good of mankind, I can't let you interfere."

Then, Doom turned on the machine that would pump knockout gas into Reed's cell once again.

* * *

Doom was certainly far from pleased by Reed's decision. In his eyes, only one thing mattered; that no one would have to suffer under terror or oppression if he could help it. He was going to make sure that people no longer lived in miserable, intolerable conditions, controlled by wicked lawmakers and dictators anymore, no matter what he had to do to get to that point. Doom had seen the horror of what it means to be oppressed firsthand, and he was determined not to let anyone else suffer as he had.

Of course, Doom hadn't told his captives much of anything that had been going on in the outside world, since they'd been imprisoned. None of them knew of the notes he'd sent to the world leaders, or of Magneto's announcement to the world. Doom would have to deal with Magneto in due time, although for the moment, he was thinking that perhaps Magneto's appearance might be a blessing in disguise. After all, no other nation would be able to defend themselves from him, from the looks of things. A few of those nations might go to Doom for protection, and in doing so, decrease the total loss of life needed during the conquest of the world. It might, Doom reasoned, be his chance to be more of a hero, and less of a conqueror to his new subjects, and that was worth a period of waiting. Still, Richards and the others would have to be dealt with. Undoubtedly, most, if not all of them would side with Doctor Richards in that matter, so Doom would need to have them executed. Maintaining their prisons was a waste of valuable resources, and none of them would have felt bad about banishment. It made Doom sad to have to do that. In fact, it made him so sad that, for a moment, he reconsidered it.

The thought had previously occurred to Doom, that he might keep the superhumans alive, until the global campaign was over, and if all of them had still been in their cells, he might well have chosen to show mercy to them; to wait on their executions, until the whole world was his, and then give them one last chance to contribute to the new order. However, Doom had been humbled somewhat when he'd seen that Crystal and the Submariner had managed to escape from the prisons he'd designed for them. The wood of Crystal's prison had been splintered from the inside, as if by a series of impacts from cannonballs, or blasts of kinetic force, and she'd apparently freed Namor shortly after that. Since his attempts to abduct them all had gone so well, Doom had barely even considered that the superhumans might find some way to escape, or upset his plans, but since the escape, it had become obvious that his position was no longer as safe as it had once been. The Submariner was out there somewhere, along with Crystal, whose powers were clearly greater than she'd revealed to the public, and together, it was conceivable that they could free the other Avengers and the Fantastic Four, and make things very difficult for Doom. If he wanted a clean victory, Doom knew that he'd need to start executing the superhumans almost at once, and hope that he could use the executions as a trap to ensnare the two who'd broken free. Both of them, after all, had weaknesses. Neither was invincible.

* * *

Submariner smiled as he raised the specially-designed bracelets, clamping them down over his wrists. They'd needed to be made very carefully, in strong plates that gave with the movements of his flesh, and yet, didn't release even a drop of water from inside. Submariner's description of the bracelets he'd worn as weapons against the Fantastic Four a while back had, it seemed, been sufficient. Crystal had managed to replicate their design almost perfectly. Then again, maybe she was just used to building advanced technology. The inhumans, after all, were said to have a higher level of technology than human beings.

Namor could feel the water inside the bracelets sustaining his invincibility; keeping him at his best. Even so, he knew there was a chance that Doom would be able to undermine his weapon, as the Human Torch had, and capture him again. If that happened, it was the end. Namor knew that he'd have to be careful.

For the time being, however, he was feeling fairly good, as he returned to the spot by the lake where he and Crystal had spent the night, trying desperately to finish with the bracelets which were, for Namor, the greatest weapon he could possibly possess. Crystal seemed pleased when she saw that they were working just as they'd been designed to, although she was obviously still very worried about what Namor would do next.

"So what now?" Crystal asked.

"Obviously, our next objective is to free the others." Namor replied quickly, "If we strike quickly, Doom might not have time to..."

"No..." Crystal replied, frowning and looking away as she spoke, "Namor, when Doom kidnapped us, he didn't do it by striking quickly. He knew most of what we were capable of, and he took advantage of our weaknesses with careful precision. The fact that the two of us managed to escape at all is only because he underestimated my abilities."

"What are you saying?" Namor asked, confused, "Don't you wish to save the others?"

"Of course I do," Crystal said, looking sadder than ever, "but obviously, whoever Doom is, he's very good at drawing plans, and putting them into action. He knew almost everything about us, and because of that, he was able to capture us so easily... Namor, we still know almost nothing about Doom, including what kinds of weapons he has at his disposal. I don't think we can beat him, or save our friends, until we start using his tactics. We need to learn as much as we can about Doom, before we jump into a fight with him. We can't afford to make any mistakes at this point."

"That's putting it mildly."

Both Crystal and Namor gave a sudden start. The voice hadn't come from either of them. In fact, it sounded as if it had slipped forth, like a whisper, from the shadows of the surrounding trees. In moments, Daredevil had emerged from behind one of those trees, and Crystal sighed in relief, when she realized who it was. She'd been worried that Doom might have found them.

"How did you get here?" Crystal asked in amazement after only a few moments, "How did you find us?"

"I heard you talking." Daredevil replied, though it didn't really answer either of Crystal's questions, "At this point, I'm working with a group of special operatives, to try to stop Doom from carrying out his threats against the current world governments, and if you're willing to take orders without question, we could use your help with some phases of the plan."

"Just tell me you want to save the Avengers, and you can count me in." Crystal said, and Namor nodded in agreement just a moment later.

"Yes." Daredevil replied, "In fact, that's our primary goal at this point. However, you're right, Crystal. We need more information before we can move against Doom in any way. We need to learn who he really is, and I doubt either of your will be able to gather that data. It seems as if the people of Latveria are completely devoted to Doom, and that might make it very difficult to get the information we need. I have a plan, however..."

* * *

For hour after hour, Matt Murdock had walked the streets of Latveria in disguise. He'd had a lot of experience finding evidence and rumors about various politicians, business executives, and crime lords back in New York City, but his usual disguise as a beggar didn't work as well in Latveria, since no one in Latveria begged, or was homeless. They didn't even seem to have a precise parallel for money.

Fortunately, they also weren't suspicious, or tight-lipped around people they met on the street, and when Matt asked them about the latest rumors from Castle Doom, they would often respond enthusiastically, and with total faith in their lord. Doom wasn't just the ruler of the Latverian people; he was their hero.

Matt kept searching for information about Doom, however, subtly dropping a question here or there between other conversation topics, or at times when the other citizens were having dinner. At last, as he started to ask more obscure questions about Doom, he was finally told that that information wasn't common knowledge.

"Beats me." the Latverian had said, "Not too many people know that much about his past, although I hear there's a man named Ray Claflin working at the academy, who knew the master since he was a child. If you really want to know, you can ask him."

That was the first big lead that Matt had gotten all day.

* * *

After asking around for only a short time longer, Matt had managed to locate Ray Claflin. Claflin did indeed have quite a bit to tell, but his knowledge of Doom ended when Doom had assigned him to work outside of the castle. Matt was referred to one of the high dukes for more information on Doom's recent endeavors, and that duke had, in turn, referred Matt to yet another Duke. The journey, and the interviews took almost a whole day longer, but at last, Matt Murdock put on his disguise. It was time to meet with the others again, and discuss what he'd learned.

As usual, Daredevil could see the others near the lake where they'd made camp. Crystal and the Submariner were both there. Each had better hearing, admittedly, than an ordinary human, and yet, neither one noticed as Daredevil approached. Widow was also there, sitting nearby, with her back against a tree. Also present were the four operatives who'd accompanied them from the agency. None had revealed their real names to Daredevil, but only one of them wore a mask. He called himself Iron Fist, and in many ways, he dressed a lot like a shinobi, with dark clothes, and a mask that covered nearly his entire face. In addition to his formidable skill in the martial arts, which all the agents seemed to share, he was said to have the ability to channel his life-force, or ki, into a power so strong, that it could enable him to punch through a solid brick wall.

The second member of the group was a woman named Horseman. She'd apparently lost an arm in a mission long ago, and had it replaced with a bionic replica, although she never told anyone which arm was the bionic one. It enhanced her strength in that arm to an extent, and allowed her to hit a great deal harder, but apparently, it was a power she hardly ever used.

The third agent was named Tarantula. She was a black woman, wearing a dark costume. She had many knives strapped to her belt, and thick spots on her outfit, attached to her arms and boots. Apparently, she was one of the best knife-fighters on Earth, and could scale sheer surfaces as well.

The last agent who'd joined in their little mission called himself Genki. When asked, he repeatedly said that he had no special powers of any sort, but Mcneil; the man who'd recruited Daredevil, had never seen Genki lose a fight; not even against armed opponents, or enemies with superhuman powers.

When Daredevil stepped out of the shadows and addressed the group of them, however, it became obvious that only Widow had noticed him. Most of them were surprised to see him, although Crystal looked relieved, at least. When he moved to the center of the group, to start telling them what he'd discovered, they were all eager to hear from him. Widow seemed to have learned a few things herself, but was just as interested in hearing what Daredevil's skill, and enhanced senses had uncovered.

"I was able to meet with a few people who knew Doom personally." Daredevil said as the others listened intently, "It wasn't easy to find out who they were, but I'd say the information I've gained was worth it. I think I can tell you just about anything about Doom now."

"What's his eye color?" Iron Fist asked. It was sort of a wise guy question, though. Certainly not one that he expected to have answered.

"Brown." Daredevil replied quickly.

All seven of Daredevil's allies just looked at him in surprise when he said that, so he sighed a little, before speaking again.

"Maybe I should just explain the things about him that I think might be important, and save the rest for later." Daredevil said, "I don't think we have much time on our hands, before he starts executing the Avengers."

Crystal was horrified by the very idea, but she knew what she needed to do. If she wanted to save her friends and allies from Doom, she first had to push her feelings to one side, and concentrate on the mission. She had to listen to Daredevil, because she needed to know more about Doctor Doom.

"It seems," Daredevil began, "like Victor Von Doom was raised among a gypsy tribe for most of his childhood. Mostly, they were nomads, who struggled just to survive, through hunting, farming, and gathering wild fruits, while at the same time, staying on the move, in the hopes of avoiding the attention of the King who ruled Latveria at the time. He was referred to as King Vladimir by his subjects. From what I've heard, he was a ruthless dictator, known for executing anyone who betrayed, failed, or even disappointed him in any way."

* * *

Doom's tribe was called the Zefiro. They traveled and worked together, and there were moments of joy to Doom's life back then, although none of them could ever forget Vladimir's oppression. It hung over them all the time, reminding them of the mortal danger they were always in, and the fact that, in the end, they had no real control over their lives.

Doom's mother, however, was a witch. She had some knowledge of magic, although she had very little experience with it, and it didn't take her long to start wondering why no one had ever used magic to claim power over the nation, and bring peace to their people. The man I talked to was a member of Doom's tribe at the time, and he seems convinced that Doom's mother chose to use magic, because she wanted her son to have a life worth living for. From everything I've learned, Victor interpreted his mother's actions the exact same way, and considers her an example for his own life, in some ways, regardless of what happened because of her choices.

Doom's mother used her magic to summon a daemon one night. As it turned out, the creature refused to do anything that she asked once she'd called it forth, and it rampaged across the Latverian countryside for nearly an hour, destroying trees, crops, wildlife, and anything else it could get its hands on, including many of the tents belonging to the Zefiro. There were over a dozen injuries, and Doom's mother; Cynthia by name, was killed. When Doom's father; Werner Von Doom, found her, she had only enough strength left to utter the words "please, you must protect." Werner was the most skilled of all the doctors and medical men in any of the nomadic tribes of Latveria, but he couldn't save his wife, and that caused him terrible grief.

Naturally, in addition to losing his mother, Victor lost his good standing with the other Zefiro. To them, he was the son of that devil-woman, and he was treated with a great deal of scorn by them. None of them trusted Victor, and that made him sad. At that point, it seems like the only reason he stayed with the Zefiro was because of his father. Despite his loss, and the continuing oppression of Vladimir, Doom still cared about his father, and never would have abandoned him. It seems possible that Doom even loved his father. Doom's father had, apparently, taught him during his childhood, that the most important thing was love; that love makes strong men good, and good men strong, and that love is all a person needs to show them the true path that they have to take in life. His father also explained to him that the nature of love is the feeling deep inside, that motivates a person to help others; to cure them, heal them, and relieve their suffering. It seems like Doom learned that lesson well.

One day, though, King Vladimir's wife contracted a really bad disease, and he sent a team of horsemen out into the wilderness, to bring Werner to him; whose medical prowess was renowned enough to even get his attention. He was terrified of what might happen, but he accompanied the horsemen back to the castle. Werner wasn't able to save Vladimir's wife. She had cancer, which is, of course, largely incurable, even by modern technology. However, Vladimir didn't hesitate in blaming his wife's death on Werner, and declaring that he was to be executed.

Werner, however, knew that his son depended on him, and somehow, he knew that there was more to Victor Von Doom that just another young Nomad, under the rule of an oppressive despot. Determined not to let his son be left alone, Werner fought the guards of the King's castle, seized the weapon of the first one who approached him, and drove the rest back with it. He escaped the castle, stole one of the king's horses, and rode back to the Zefiro camp to retrieve Victor. The two rode into the wilderness, where they hid from the king's soldiers that same night.

Unfortunately, snow had fallen in Latveria just recently. Even in camp, with all of their blankets and tents, it would have been hard to survive a storm like that one, and the Von Dooms had just one blanket, that had been underneath the saddle of their stolen horse. Werner insisted on Victor using it, and by morning, when Vladimir's soldiers had given up looking for Werner, he'd contracted hypothermia and died. Victor was the last Von Doom.

Victor had loved his father a lot, and the grief he felt over Werner's death must have been equally immense, because when he returned to the Zefiro camp, he started tearing apart his parent's possessions. It was only then, that Victor discovered Cynthia's old spell books, and realized why the daemon had appeared and slain her.

Over the next several years, Doom learned what he could from those magic tomes. A lot of it was too dangerous to be used, or else, Doom would have been at much the same risk as his mother, but he did uncover a spell that enabled him to summon refined metal ores to his position through a great effort. Using that spell, Victor began experimenting with machines and electronics. He learned a lot from each experiment, and without any formal training at all, soon came to an understanding of science, that might make most professional scientists and doctors jealous. After that, he started building weapons, and using them to take food and resources; even from Vladimir's private stores. Among the people of Latveria, he became a legend within a year, always of assistance whenever he appeared, and always escaping from Vladimir's men cleanly and easily. His single-handed attacks against the king drew quite a bit of attention, and gave the people hope, and in the end, Vladimir took drastic steps, to try to crush that hope.

King Vladimir knew that his men had proven ineffective against Von Doom, in the rare cases where they'd been able to locate him at all, and he knew that he needed something or someone better, so he appealed to several foreign governments for aid. Of course, no one wanted to have anything to do with him. To the people of Latveria, Vladimir may have been a ruthless tormentor, but internationally, he was viewed as an irrational, immature child. No government was all that eager to assist him, because they thought, at first, that Vladimir couldn't offer them anything worthwhile in exchange.

Vladimir knew, though, that he couldn't let Doom keep running free in Latveria, because Doom's crimes against him were becoming more and more costly. In the end, the king was able to recover one of Doom's weapons; a bomb of sorts, that sent out energy waves, which halted the motions in molecules, effectively freezing whatever it was thrown at. The bomb was a type of technology, that no one working for the king could decipher, so Vladimir decided to approach the United States government with the technology, offering it to them in exchange for their assistance in removing Doom from Latveria. In the end, after a study of the bomb by US scientists, certain higher-ups in the government agreed to Vladimir's proposition, but only, they insisted, if they were allowed to make use of Doom's brilliant, creative genius in their own projects. Vladimir didn't like the idea of Doom still being alive at the end of it all, which led to some delays in making a deal between them, but it was the only real option he had.

Things happened pretty quickly at that point. Doom learned that US representatives would be visiting Latveria, and wanted them to see what an oppressive ruler Vladimir really was. It seemed, though, that the representatives were already well aware of that, and when they discovered Doom, lurking around the castle they'd landed outside, they wisely decided not to try to fight him. If they'd tried that, Doom would probably have either injured one of them, or made another escape. In the end, they were able to convince Doom that they only wanted to make him a generous offer, and that, it turned out, was exactly what they did.

The US representatives offered Doom a position working as a designer of new technologies for, as they said, the benefit of the free world. More likely, the DOD just wanted to use him to make new kinds of weapons. I think Doom probably realized their real motives, but at the time, he played along for some reason. It doesn't seem likely that Doom actually wanted to help any military forces in any way, but maybe he thought that he could use them to get hold of resources, and acquire greater experience in the field than he'd been able to in the past. They even offered him a chance to attend Columbia University, and get some formal training in the fields he'd been excelling in, and Doom, it seemed, didn't want to pass that up. I can't say I blame him for anything he'd done up to that point. In his place, I'd probably have wanted a formal education too, and I definitely wouldn't have trusted the DOD.

No one's really sure what happened at the university, but Doom stayed there for less than a year. Apparently, there was some kind of accident. I'm not sure what was involved, but Doom left both the university, and the country shortly after that. All of the experiments that he'd been working on for the DOD were destroyed by some kind of micro-explosive charges, that had been hardwired into the circuitry; probably ever since Doom first designed it. From the sounds of things, he'd been planning to double-cross them since the start. That doesn't surprise me either, although it did make him a criminal. Destroying military equipment is definitely against the law.

What happened to Doom after that is surrounded by even more mystery. It seems that something about the accident at the university scarred Doom's face all over. Most likely, he kept the bandages on, or else disguised himself with a mask, but after betraying the DOD, he just seemed to vanish off the face of the Earth for several years. No rumors... nothing. No one's sure what happened to him after that, but I'm convinced that Doom didn't waste his time, because when he reappeared, years later, he was wearing a suit of cybernetic armor, similar to the kind worn by Iron Man. The armor seemed to have made him more powerful than ever. Since then, the people of Latveria have seen Doom as a figure of hope and myth. They've told me that his armor and training have given him many amazing powers, less than half of which I'm ready to believe exist. Doom became the closest thing that the people of Latveria had ever had to a true hero.

Of course, in a nation where the governing body is the most oppressive and terrifying force in the lives of its citizens, the nature of a hero for the people is very different. Doom knew what life was like for the people of Latveria, and he knew that there was only one true criminal in the kingdom; one person that his people needed to be saved from; King Vladimir.

Doom moved through the kingdom, stopping at towns and encampments wherever he went over the next several months; always lashing out at Vladimir's men whenever they threatened the people they were supposed to be protecting. It happened, unfortunately, everywhere he went.

Of course, the last time Doom had been in Latveria, he'd used his technology to do pretty much to same thing, hindering Vladimir's attempts, and escaping when he needed to. However, since his return, Doom didn't need to worry about escapes anymore. In the first town he visited; West Caramie, he was attacked by a troupe of over a dozen soldiers, and picked them apart without any help. Though he was disguised by a mask, cloak, hood, and a suit of armor, the people recognized him almost at once, and they knew that Doom was back. Naturally, they knew what Doom had done in the past; how he'd disrupted Vladimir's plans, and always made it out alive, but since he'd returned, Doom had seen more oppression than ever, and he knew that Vladimir still had an army, and could still torture his subjects if he wanted to. Doom wanted to do more than just hinder Vladimir; he wanted to stop him, and even Doom couldn't do that alone.

After visiting just a few towns, Doom started recruiting able-bodied citizens to his cause of liberation. Five whole towns joined him in only a few weeks, after he demonstrated his power and skill to them, and told them that there was hope for victory, after all that time. The man who'd been their tormentor for so many years would, Doom said, finally be brought to justice; punished for his crimes. Doom was furious that kings, lords, and rulers like Vladimir could never be held accountable for what they did. Because of that, Doom said, many people had lost their lives for no reason at all, including many of his closest friends, and his own parents. He was determined to ensure that people who abused their power would, in the future, have to answer to a force of pure, true justice, starting with the king of Latveria.

Doom moved across Latveria after that, bit by bit, recruiting new help wherever he went. The people of Latveria had held back from revolution before then, because they'd been convinced that they could never succeed against the superior weapons of their lord, but with Doom providing them with arms and advice, they won almost every battle with the king's men, frequently even when they were outnumbered. In fact, on more than one occasion, the majority of the enemy soldiers defected to Doom's army, once they saw the kind of brilliant tactics being used against them. After a while, even people in Vladimir's castle had heard about Doom's brilliance and fairness. From everything I've heard, by the time Doom's army got to Vladimir's castle, the entire force of the enemy was ready to bow down, and declare Doom their new ruler. All that was left was Vladimir himself; the one person in the kingdom who didn't have the brains to know when he was beaten.

Vladimir ran from Doom, through an escape route, in an attempt to get out of the capital, but Doom had been in contact with Vladimir's high chancellor long before making a move on the capital, and had predicted the route that Vladimir would use in his attempt to escape. He was waiting for Vladimir on the other end. Doom could have told his men to seize the former king of Latveria at that point, but in spite of everything, he was determined to give his enemy one last chance. Doom had been born from humble beginnings, and through ingenuity, skill and hard work, he'd set out on a quest of self-improvement that had made him the most powerful person in his country. Every weapon that he had, he'd designed himself, and every skill he'd mastered, he'd mastered by an effort of his own. Vladimir had had even longer to prepare for the moment when he'd need to fight for his life, and had started with a much greater fortune at his disposal. In Doom's eyes, if Vladimir couldn't defeat him, he had no one to blame but himself.

You could say that the two of them fought, but it wasn't much of a fight. Doom turned down the power on his armor, but even so, Vladimir was no match for him. Vladimir was a foolish, spoiled tyrant, with virtually no combat experience of his own. Doom was in his prime, and an expert in the martial arts by that point. Even against the weight of his armor, Doom outmaneuvered Vladimir's clumsy attacks easily, beating the older man senseless, bit by bit. Most of the people living in Latveria right now wish that they could have been there to see that moment when justice finally caught up to their former king.

In the end, Vladimir collapsed to the ground, defeated, and Doom brought his boot down one last time, in an attempt to knock Vladimir unconscious. It seems like Vladimir moved at the last second, trying to slide out of the way of the kick with his last ounce of strength. Of course, if Doom is really as skilled as I've heard, he could have compensated for what Vladimir did. I'm convinced that Doom really did mean to kill Vladimir; at least somewhat.

Doom's foot came down on Vladimir's neck, rather than on the side of his head, as Doom claimed that he intended. Vladimir was dead in seconds. Still, the act was well-received by the general public, who rushed to make Doom their new ruler. To them, he was a savior, and their greatest champion. There was nobody they trusted as much as Victor Von Doom.

* * *

"But I don't get it..." Crystal said, interrupted Daredevil's explanations at that point, "I mean, he obviously made a few mistakes, but Doom still sounds like a hero to his people. You said he cared so much about helping people, and being loving. What happened to him that made him turn to kidnapping? Why is he trying to take over the world now? What caused him to change so much?"

Daredevil seemed a little distracted after having been interrupted, but he recovered quickly, and voiced his reply almost at once.

"Honestly?" Daredevil said in a voice that sounded deeply distraught, "It seems like Doom still loves every person in the world, whether he knows them or not. He didn't change at all."

* * *

To Be Continued...


	22. Issue 22: Doom's Day Part 3

Tales From the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 22

"Doom's Day"

Part 3 of 3

* * *

"What?" Crystal asked, stunned, and more than a little confused by the news that Daredevil had just given her, "He hasn't changed? What do you mean, he hasn't changed? I mean, Werner was right. Love is the most important thing. Among the inhumans, love is an ever-present sustenance. We subsist on it, and it motivates us in our jobs, and keeps us going throughout our lives. Doom should be reacting like Black Bolt, joining us in trying to preach peace; not kidnapping people and struggling to take over."

"I understand what you're saying," Daredevil replied sadly, "but I think that the truth is that as good a king as Black Bolt is, his love for sentient beings still has its limits. Doom is all the proof I need to convince me that too much of anything is a bad thing; even love."

"But what's so loving about forcing yourself on people?" Crystal demanded to know. Daredevil clearly had an answer ready for that, though he wasn't sure Crystal would want to hear it.

"By itself," Daredevil explained, "there's nothing about that that's loving at all. Doom views his methods as just a means to an end. The inhumans knew about the barbaric tendencies of mankind, despite having been in seclusion for so many decades. Doom's read all about human history, so he knows even more about those tendencies. In other words, Doom knew about the tendency of humans to kill and oppress one another, making each other truly miserable throughout the entire course of their lives. Even nowadays, with democracy on the rise, many people are still miserable, trapped by bad economic conditions, poor living situations, lousy decisions, rotten luck, and in some cases, a simple disagreement over how things ought to be done. Doom knew that as long as people were miserable, it meant that someone wasn't being loving enough, and he cared so much about his fellow man, that their misery became his. That's the reason why he decided to take action to end man's suffering once and for all."

"Doom is a genius in every way that a person can be." Daredevil continued, though he didn't seem pleased by what he needed to say, "He has vast scientific knowledge, and his ability to plan out tactics is enviable, but there was one other way that his genius really showed, and that was in understanding the human soul; what it craves and needs. When Doom claimed lordship over Latveria, he gave his people a lifestyle that was completely under his control, but it was also completely reassuring, and fulfilling. No one starves or suffers under his rule, and everyone has a job that makes them feel good about themselves. Doom planned it all out that way because of his love for people. He cared so much about his people, that he did what nobody else on Earth has ever been able to do; he gave them a way of life that's both perfectly satisfying, and perfectly dependable."

"Doom does want to take over the rest of the world, but he doesn't view it as conquest, or as a campaign. In his eyes, the other leaders of the world, including elected officials are little more than petty tyrants who are still unwilling, or unable to give people the happy, satisfying lives that they need. What's more, Doom has noticed how many injustices and evils are waved aside, or made legal by kings, emperors, politicians and activist judges. Any other man would just accept it as part of the world they live in, but Doom views world leaders as just being criminals, in just the same way he viewed King Vladimir. In his eyes, those 'criminals,' have to be made to stand trial for their crimes before someone who still cares about justice; himself."

"That kind of decision is self-righteous and foolish." Namor said at that point, "I suspect that Doom is merely being arrogant, and is doing all of this in an attempt to bolster his own ego."

"Yesterday, I might have agreed with you," Daredevil admitted, his posture slipping a little, as he spoke, "but, at this point, I'm not so sure. Doom's managed to achieve spectacular results in this country, and he's become the most powerful person in Latveria. There are people who say that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely, but as far as I can tell, Doom has never used his power to work against the public good, or to obtain forbidden pleasures for himself. King Vladimir, for instance, did both. I don't think Doom has been corrupted by his power. Much the reverse, in fact. I think that Doom's power has brought him to a realization of his own importance in the lives of his people, and that realization has made him even less likely to be corrupted. In a sense, I think that Doom is the least corrupt politician in the world... maybe even the least corrupt person that I've ever heard of. His cause is probably the only truly uncompromising moral endeavor that I've ever seen."

By that point, however, Widow was starting to look suspicious of Daredevil. All over her face, there were hints of fear. She was worried that Daredevil was turning against them.

"Daredevil..." Widow said, interrupting him quickly, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that no one dies needlessly in Latveria." Daredevil replied flatly, "I'm saying that there are no gangs, no criminals, and no conflicts. No one could ever be murdered on their own doorstep in Latveria. Doom's found a philosophy and moral set, in which no one gets hurt, and in which no one dies before their time, no matter who they are, and what others think of them. Based on that information alone, I don't think it's going too far to suppose that morally; ethically, Doom is probably in the right."

Everyone just stared at Daredevil when he said that. They were all speechless.

"Doom wants to prevent as much suffering as he can, by whatever means necessary," Daredevil explained, "and he seems to have been very thorough in calculating those means. He knows how many people are killed by others every year in America alone, and he knows that no war or combination of wars has ever equaled the number of those deaths. He's not naive. He knows that his rise to power will cause many people to die, but he's calculated that many more people would die if he doesn't rise to power. In short, Doom is trying to choose the lesser evil; the choice that will do the least damage. The depth of his research, and the accuracy of his calculations are devastating. Frankly, it seems like Doom is really the one doing what's right, or at least what's best."

Everyone there was silent for several moments. None of them were sure what to do or say. Daredevil's words were shocking and disorienting. It was hard to believe that he'd even said them, and yet, they couldn't ignore the possibility that he was right in his evaluation, and Doom really was the kind of hero that mankind most needed.

"So..." Crystal muttered, deeply worried when she spoke next, "What do we do now?"

"I can't tell you what to do." Daredevil said, "All I can tell you is what I'm going to do. I'm going to sneak into Doom's castle, and I'm going to give him a fight. Maybe Doom is doing the right thing. Maybe he's fighting for a sacred cause, and I'm just some guy who's worried about his feelings, but I could never join him. Doom's learned to be ruthless, and to justify wicked actions for the purpose of preventing greater wickedness. He might get better results than I can, but there's something about it that just doesn't seem human enough to me. I mean, maybe not every crook I bring in reforms, but at least I know I haven't crossed the line. I've never killed a man; I've never decided that my goals are more important than another person's life. Doom has, and that just doesn't sit well with me. You can all make your own decisions. I won't ask you to help me fight him, but don't get in my way."

However, it seemed that Daredevil had underestimated most of the people there. The government agents were rising quickly to their feet, to offer Daredevil their support, and pledge their loyalty to his cause of stopping Doom. Widow was smiling just a little, and Namor was the first to salute. The memory of his time spent serving alongside Captain America during the second world war was driving Namor to follow Daredevil. Right or wrong, he was going to help fight Doom.

That left only Crystal, who remained seated on the ground as the others offered their support. Though her friends and allies were committing to assist Daredevil, Crystal was just staring off into space, trying her best to think the matter over. Finally, when Namor turned to face Crystal, she knew that she needed to speak her mind. The peer pressure in that place was enormous, especially given how much closer she and Namor had become since their escape from Doom's fortress, and that made what Crystal had to do all the more difficult.

"I'm sorry." Crystal said, getting gradually to her feet, "But there's only so much I can help you with in this case."

Silence fell over everyone there when Crystal said that. It was hard to tell what Daredevil was feeling behind that mask of his, but Namor looked a little sad.

"Crystal..." Daredevil said, sounding hurt as he spoke, "What do you mean?"

Crystal thought about it for a moment longer, but more to get her thoughts in order than anything. She already knew what she had to do.

"Doom kidnapped my friends, and I can't abandon them." Crystal explained, frowning herself, "If you want to free the other Avengers, I'll help you, but honestly, I've felt uncomfortable about this ever since I learned that Doom was a king. Human emotions might motivate you to oppose Doom on principle, but I don't feel that way at all. The inhumans live by a system very similar to the one Doom has apparently set in motion here, and nothing would make me happier than to see that lifestyle adopted by the rest of mankind. Black Bolt and I chose not to use the methods that Doom's using, but if I'd suffered as he has, I might have wound up making a different decision. I believe in the same cause that Doom believes in, and I seek the same ends. I'm devoted to my friends on a personal level, and to my king and the Avengers by a bond of loyalty and love, so I'll help you rescue them, but you can't ask me to help you fight Doom for any other reason. For me, this is a rescue mission, and nothing else. I'm... I'm sorry."

Silence reigned for a second or two after that, before Daredevil spoke again.

"What if Doom makes good on his threats? What if he starts kidnapping world leaders? Are you saying you won't help us stop him?"

"Yes." Crystal replied firmly, though still with great sadness in her voice, "I'm not friends with any of those world leaders. I don't trust them, and I don't like them. Unlike Doom, most of them have no plans for reforming their nations. For Black Bolt, the Fantastic Four, and the Avengers, I'll fight against Doom for now, but if he has a grievance with the leaders of the world, I have no obligation to protect any of them, or to oppose him directly."

Most of the people there seemed to be a little disappointed by Crystal's decision, but although her choice had made him sad, Namor also felt that he should say one final thing to her.

"Crystal..." Namor said, looking her in the eyes, "You have my gratitude for whatever assistance you can provide us with. I will respect your wishes."

"Thank you, King Namor." Crystal replied, giving the Submariner a polite bow, although deep down inside, she was still feeling horrible. It didn't help her mood, being forced to partially agree with someone who'd just kidnapped most of the people she cared about, but it was something she couldn't help. As an inhuman, her natural instinct was the same as Doom's; to concern herself mainly with the end result.

"Our objective needs to be freeing the Avengers." Daredevil explained aloud, "The problem is, Doom's going to be expecting that. I'm sure he'll have some kind of trap set up. Of course, there's a chance he might be able to see through any strategy we try, but I do have a few ideas."

* * *

Victor Von Doom had been hard at work all afternoon, drawing up strategies and plans with his top diplomats and high generals, and he still had many other meetings and plans to get through for the remainder of the day. However, one couldn't just ignore the emergencies that popped up from time to time. When the red light on Doom's gauntlet began to blink again, he knew that he had to answer whoever had set off the alarm.

Raising one hand, to silence one of his generals, who'd been in the middle of a description, Doom pressed a small stud on the edge of his gauntlet, and heard a voice emerging from the speaker in his helmet.

"Lord Doom," the voice said, "there's been an intrusion."

"What did the intruder look like?" Doom asked quickly, tossing aside all ordinary pleasantries for the moment.

"Well... Sir, we haven't exactly seen..." the voice began, however, there was a sharp thud a moment later. It was the kind of thud that Doom recognized, because it was the sound of a thin, metal rod hitting human flesh and bone. The fact that his guard wasn't transmitting anything after that told Doom all that he needed to know about the situation.

"Apologies, my friends." Doom said as he cut off the transmission on his end as well, "Something pretty urgent seems to have come up. I think that the leaders of the world are giving me their first answer to my demands."

In just a moment, everyone there had given Doom a reverent bow, and he turned on his heel, to leave the building, and return to his security control room. The time, he knew, had come for him to deal with the remaining Avengers.

* * *

Daredevil stayed perfectly silent, though inside, he was a little upset. He should have anticipated that one of the guards would notice the broken lock, and suddenly, Doom knew that there was an intruder inside his castle. Still, one couldn't change the past, and Daredevil had made it inside the front entrance, knocking out both of the guards at that location. He just had to hope that the others would be able to accomplish their part. Daredevil hoped that he could get inside safely, but it wasn't, he knew, something he could count on.

In fact, he'd only taken a few steps further into the castle, before he heard a sharp clang on the floor a few yards away. From that simple sound, he caught a glimpse of a figure hidden in the shadows. Sure enough, the figure was dressed in heavy armor, operated from within by electronics. He was also wearing a thin cloak and hood over his armor. In fact, he very closely resembled the descriptions that Daredevil had been given of Doctor Doom, but something was wrong. "Doom" didn't seem to have any body heat, and what's more, he didn't have a heartbeat, which must have been why Daredevil hadn't heard him coming. However, when Daredevil concentrated very hard, he could just make out the dull, subdued hum of electricity traveling through circuits.

"A robot." Daredevil muttered, listening carefully for any move that it might make next, "What's the matter, Doom? Can't face me in person?"

However, as Daredevil asked that, he heard a voice, seeming to come from all around him. It was a voice that sounded both young and brilliant, and it was difficult to imagine that Doom wasn't an American, because he was speaking English flawlessly, with no trace of an accent of any sort.

"Clearly, you are no cyberneticist." Doom said with a note of disappointment in his voice, "No. Robots are machines guided by computers, that bare no resemblance to human beings whatsoever. This is a lifelike humanoid replica. Some also refer to them as androids, and I'm very close to being able to give them a duplication of my own intelligence. Still, they're both skilled and powerful, and they have my own ability to draw complicated plans. I don't think you'll get much further into my castle, unless of course, you've come to surrender."

When Doom said that, Daredevil started to feel a little nervous. Whatever else Doom was, he was an expert in numerous things, and if he thought that he'd designed a machine capable of fighting and defeating a skilled human being, there was probably something to that theory. Matt Murdock wasn't about to give up, but he was losing confidence.

Quickly, Daredevil started planning an attack, although the moment that he leapt forward at the artificial construct, he knew he was in for the fight of his life, because he recognized the stance that it was assuming.

* * *

As Daredevil fought with the cybernetic machine, the others set about, putting their part of the plan in motion. Crystal knew where she and Namor had been held, although deciding who was going to join in that part of the mission had been extremely difficult. Crystal would obviously be going along, as well as Genki, Horseman, Tarantula, and Iron Fist. However, Crystal had suggested that Widow stay behind, in case the plan failed. That had been a tense moment between the two women, because it seemed that Widow had come to a clear decision, and Crystal was obviously nervous about something. After that suggestion was made, Widow had asked Crystal to talk with her in private. The two had traveled for quite some distance, until even Daredevil's sensitive ears couldn't have overheard their words. They'd talked for a long time, and in the end, Crystal looked upset about something, as she and Widow returned to the others, but Widow, it seemed, had decided to go along with Crystal's plan, and stay behind for the time being.

The assault had four separate phases. The sneak attack, which was almost guaranteed to fail, was the first. It would involve Daredevil trying to gain entry into the castle through stealth, then the initial rescue attempt would follow, in which most of the others would be involved, although even that would be a blind for the true assault. Namor would make his move on Doom himself, and find some way of subduing him. With Doom as a prisoner, they could get to work liberating the others, and after that, they could decide what to do with him. If all of those plans failed, it would be Widow's turn. During the confusion caused by the attack of the others, Widow would be expected to move in quickly, and try to find some weakness in Doom's technology, that could be used to liberate the Avengers, or stop his endeavors. It was a complicated plan, but it seemed like the most likely sort of plan to succeed.

Once Crystal had brought the others to the section of the castle that she and Namor had escaped from, she pointed out one of the walls to Iron Fist, and he quickly made his move. In just a second, his fist was glowing brightly, and when he drove it forward, into the wall of the castle, shards of stone flew in all directions. After only a few more blows like that, a small passage was cleared into that section of the castle, and the group of five charged in, to find themselves in a long, stone hallway. However, it didn't look like the area that Crystal had escaped from, or indeed, a prison compound of any sort. Genki noticed immediately that something was wrong.

"This is not the right place, is it?" he asked with a clear, Chinese accent.

"No." Crystal replied, suddenly terrified, "I don't understand it. I mean, this should be it. This is the area of the castle that Namor and I escaped from."

"So it would appear." said a voice, which seemed to come from all around the group, causing them to look around in surprise and dismay. Somehow, Doom had managed to not only anticipate their attack, but plan for it, and he'd taken them by surprise.

In just a moment, one of the walls slid aside, to cover up the entrance that Iron Fist had made, and from behind that wall, a group of guards emerged. They wore helmets and light armor, and each was armed with a firearm of some sort. Most were male, but a few were female, and they all looked dangerous. In general, their armor and clothes were a combination of blue and silver colors. There was no doubt anymore. Doom had sprung a trap.

"However," Doom continued, "you must not have realized that I've made many modifications to this castle since I took over, and among the most important, for me, were the engines that I built into the very walls of this place. The rooms, you see, aren't just ordinary rooms. I can move them wherever I want to in the castle. You'd be amazed how much more complicated that makes the job of any invaders, such as yourselves."

Crystal was pretty worried by that point, though none of the others seemed to have much to say. In just a second, however, Genki had slid forward, along the floor, towards one of the guards, and with a single swipe of his leg, knocked the guard to the floor. The other guards were already turning to fire on him, but Genki was much too fast, and the momentary diversion gave Crystal the time she needed to shake the stone under their feet for a second with her elemental powers. The guards seemed to lose their balance all at once, and fell over, collapsing to the floor, but Genki had already knocked two of them unconscious by that point.

As Crystal and the others took that moment to charge down the hallway, in the hopes of finding the new location of the prison, Crystal was worried to see that Genki wasn't following them.

"What's Genki's power?" Crystal inquired as she and Iron Fist ran away from his location.

"He doesn't have one." Iron Fist replied quickly.

"Huh?" Crystal asked, pretty confused by that, "I thought all you guys from the agency had some kind of special power or something."

"To date, Genki is the first to be admitted into the agency without surpassing what we consider to be human limits in the martial arts." Iron Fist explained, "Still, it would have just been blind arrogance not to admit him. I've never seen Genki lose a fight to another human being. He might well be the single best overall fighter in the world."

Crystal was stunned by that claim, but she didn't stop running. Obviously, Genki had stayed behind to try to stall the guards, though Crystal had no way of knowing that both he and the guards would soon be unconscious, surrounded by a cloud of paralyzing gas.

* * *

Namor had been floating in midair, watching as the opening to the castle had closed up, and the sound of battle had reached his sharp ears. After waiting for only a few moments, he made his move. Some part of him wanted to travel in the other direction, in order to assist Crystal and the others with their fight, but Namor knew what it meant to be a warrior, and to be responsible for doing one's part, in safeguarding the lives of others. Despite his deep contemplations, he knew that he had a job to do.

In only a moment, Namor had begun the plunge downward, towards the castle of Doctor Doom, easily shrugging off every weapon aimed in his direction from the castle's upper rooms, and at last, just as he was about to collide with the castle itself, he sped up, moving in an entirely new direction altogether. To the guards, and anyone else who'd been watching him, it must have seemed as if he'd simply disappeared all at once, but Namor's incredible power and speed was merely carrying him to the other side of the castle. In only a second after he'd been spotted, careening towards one of the castle walls, he'd burst through another one, several dozen yards away.

Bullets and crumbling stone debris alike glanced harmlessly off the skin of the Atlantean king, as he made his entrance into Castle Doom with his full power and force. Completely ignoring the guards, who rushed to attack him, Namor plunged through yet another wall in the castle, then another and another. If Doom was anywhere in the castle, Namor was determined to find him.

More than once, Namor encountered beings that seemed to correspond to the description that he'd been given of Doom, but nearly all of them were actually machines in armor, disguised to look like Doom, and even act like him. They weren't the ones that Namor was after. He wanted the real man in charge; not some cybernetic replica.

At last, after nearly five minutes of tearing through walls, weapons, and enclosures, Namor found the throne room of Doom himself. There, Namor could see Doom seated in a small throne in the room's center. Two cyber-Dooms flanked him, and they moved forward to intercept Namor, only to be torn to shreds by a single motion of the Submariner's left arm. Namor could tell that the Doom on the throne was the real one. Among Namor's many senses was a heat sense, similar to the kind used by certain deep sea fish to locate food in pitch black environments, and Doom himself was the only one who had any heat inside of him. However, although Namor had demolished Doom's machines so easily, he wasn't taking any chances with Doom himself. In a flash, the submariner lunged forward, towards Doom without a single word, both hands outstretched, and moving with all of the speed he could muster.

Moving as fast as he was, however, Namor didn't have enough time to react, when the shadows all around him seemed to rise up, swallowing his arms, and stopping him right where he was.

"I can't say I'm not impressed by your power and determination, Submariner," Doom said, "but I'm afraid that my mission on this Earth is too important. I can't let you jeopardize it."

"Doom!" Namor exclaimed, "Unhand me! This will mean war with Atlantis, with Attilan, and with Subterra if you don't release the Avengers at once."

"No one wants war," Doom replied sadly, and almost too quickly, "but why do you think that is? Did you ever stop to ask yourself why people really fear war? It's not the death and the loss; it's the brutality, the violence and the fear of being exposed to such things. That's why people shun war, Submariner. They're scared to make that choice. They're simply afraid to face such a barbaric necessity."

Namor was still struggling against the might of the barrier of shadows that Doom had somehow entrapped him partway inside. He'd only rarely encountered anything that could challenge his full strength. For the most part, Namor considered himself, when well-hydrated, to be physically invincible. However, no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't seem to get free of the substance, whatever it was. It infuriated him, as he replied to Doom in indignation and anger.

"It doesn't have to be a war, Doom." Namor said, "If you let us all go now, we might be convinced not to retaliate. War is a skill, but it's never a necessity. Anyone who's been in a war knows that."

"I have been in a war" Doom replied, "and I know for a fact that sometimes, war is the only way to resolve a problem. Some people simply will not accept reasonable solutions peacefully. When people are too stubborn, selfish, or incompetent to accept the proper solutions, the time has come for force to be used."

"Doom," Namor snarled, "you can't seriously tell me that war will accomplish what you desire."

Doom, however, sounded sadder that ever, when he replied to that.

"At this point" Doom replied miserably, "nothing will accomplish what I truly desire. What I desire is for mankind to live forever in peace and contentment. What I desire is for the killing to not only stop, but to have never begun. What I desire is true tranquility and joy for all people who live, or have ever lived."

"When I first returned to Latveria, and orchestrated the revolution against King Vladimir, I watched many people die on both sides." Doom continued, taking his seat calmly again, although Namor remained trapped where he was, "I cannot express to you the pain that I felt at that time. It was agony to watch such death and carnage, but it was never as agonizing as life under Vladimir had once been. Do you know why? The reason is that Vladimir killed people as well, and he killed them for no reason; for no good cause. As people around me were hunted, or executed by the king's men, I looked to their deaths, trying to comfort myself with the thought that they must have died for some great, cosmic reason; some purpose that would accomplish a greater good. Do you know what I eventually realized, however?"

As Doom said that, he leaned forward in his chair again, looking angrily at Namor as he spoke, "I discovered that my friends and family had not, in fact, died for some wonderful purpose, or great, glorious cause. They died because Vladimir wanted them dead. There was no other reason. Vladimir had robbed them of the chance to live, but he'd also robbed their deaths of any meaning at all. You see, I believe that life is sacred, and must be protected, but I also recognize the honor of self-sacrifice, and of any person who gives their life to help others. No one should be forced to die by the will of another. If a person sacrifices themselves for the good of their fellow man, that's infuriating and painful, but there's still some dignity to it. If a person dies of simple old age, there is a great honor and accomplishment in that, especially if their life was fulfilling and good. However, I couldn't let Vladimir keep robbing people of their right to live and die with some measure of dignity and satisfaction."

"You're just the same way," Namor spat out, "destroying the innocent in your quest to get what you want."

"You misunderstand me." Doom replied, "I would never harm the innocent. In fact, it's innocence itself that I'm trying to save. Any person who takes no direct action to oppose my will will be spared, and the only people who will die will be the ones unwilling to surrender to me. I swear this on the honor of Doom. I care too much about human life to kill with abandon."

Namor was just scowling by that point, but Doom continued to speak.

"For a moment, Submariner, try to step outside of your personal perspective. Look at the world in terms of where the greatest tragedies are, and where the greatest loss is experienced. Every day, people die of starvation, caused by human unwillingness to share, of diseases brought about by human misconduct, and directly at the hands of human beings, some of whom even have the gall to claim the title which I hold so dear; the title of 'Doctor.' Do you know how many people are killed by these things, which could be so easily prevented, with a little self-control on the part of human beings? A hundred thousand? Five hundred thousand? A million? I assure you, it's closer to fifty million people every year worldwide who die from even a fraction of these inexcusable problems. Now, think back on the greatest wars that man has experienced; the Great War, World War Two, the Civil War, the conquests of the Romans, the raids of the Norse, the British Empire... Even combined, in all of human history, all of those wars never produced as many casualties as a single year of life without war in the modern world does. Knowing that, who can deny the logic of my position? Who can say that a brief war is not a viable solution to these near-ubiquitous evils? I must bring mankind into a new age of peace and justice, and neither you, nor anyone else will stop me."

Namor never liked to admit defeat, but in terms of his mastery of cold, mathematical logic, Doom was virtually invincible. All that mattered, therefore, was finding some way out of whatever trap the undersea lord had found himself in.

"What is this substance?" Namor asked, trying to calm himself a little "It's too strong to be anything natural."

"It's not a substance, exactly." Doom replied, "It's a magical manifestation of the shadows in this room. Of course, its magic is extremely powerful. I created it with this."

As he spoke, Doom raised an object into Namor's field of vision, and Namor's sharp intake of breath was unmistakable. He recognized the stone.

"I see you're familiar with the obsidian stone." Doom continued, "Its magical powers are strong enough to defeat most opponents with very little effort. It forms shadows, and other darkness into weapons that can be shaped, strengthened, and wielded by the will of its user."

"I know." Namor replied, though the color had started to drain from his face a bit, "In fact, in Atlantis, we have legends surrounding that stone. It was believed, in my kingdom, that overuse of the stone's magic would cause a new era of darkness in whatever world the stone dwelled."

"Fascinating." Doom replied, "Your people really were privy to quite a few things. It wouldn't surprise me terribly, if you knew how to use the stone yourself. However, I have no intention of trying to use this stone to conquer the planet. In fact, I might never use it again, after today. I worked hard to acquire it, but frankly, I only needed its power to defend myself from rogue superhumans, who might have escaped from my first attempt to capture them all. You see, I had everything planned out well in advance; the requests to the UN, to invite the Fantastic Four and the Avengers as guests, the traps that my agents set up for each of you, the prisons that I designed to hold you, and so forth. Each of those plans was crafted with full attention paid to the smallest details, but sometimes, even the best-laid plans go awry, as they say. I wanted to be certain that if my plans did fail, I would have a fail-safe set in place, to prevent you so-called heroes from interfering with my attempts to save the world. I'm glad to see that the obsidian stone served me so well in that respect."

In just a moment, Namor felt the shadows spreading over him from all sides, scraping across his flesh, and tearing off his bracelets. Soon, he was on the floor, still surrounded by shadow, and there wasn't so much as a drop of moisture on his skin. Namor could feel his strength draining away, as the water evaporated on the floor all around him.

"Of course, there are others, who've managed to make it into my castle, but the last of them is being captured as I speak." Doom said, in what sounded a little like discontent, "In a way, I'm sorry it had to be like this, Submariner. From one king to another, I'd have much preferred not to oppose you, but you would have tried to stop me from saving the world, and I'm afraid I can't allow that."

In just another moment, Doom walked over to one of the nearby walls, where there was a small button. Quickly, he pushed the button on the wall, causing a large section of it to slide away into the ceiling, revealing a very dry-looking chamber. In just a few more seconds, Namor was being conveyed into that chamber by the shadows. When the shadows finally released him, and the wall came down over him, he was too weak to break stone or metal, or to escape. Doom had trapped him again, almost effortlessly, but that didn't mean that Doom's worries were over.

Quickly, Doom stepped across the room, to a nearby door, and opened it, leading into an observation room with a series of monitors. One by one, they turned on, as he approached them, and he began to work the keys on the machine, each designed to give him some measure of control over the astounding security system that he possessed.

* * *

Crystal had continued running and running, trying to find the cells where the Avengers were held, as one by one, the others had been captured. Walls had opened up periodically, and androids had emerged, attacking the invaders with inhuman speed, force, and very advanced weaponry. Not only that, but each seemed to be skilled in the martial arts, blocking attacks, dodging, kicking, grabbing, throwing and so forth. Crystal knew that even after months of training under Captain America, she wasn't anywhere near the kind of martial artist that Iron Fist or Tarantula were, and she could tell that her powers were nearly spent. At last, it was just Horseman and her, and one of Doom's androids was gaining on them rapidly.

Horseman turned and started firing with her gun, but the android's armor was too strong for bullets. In a second, the android had fired a beam weapon of some kind at Horseman, and in just a moment later, she was unconscious, falling towards the ground. The android had grabbed her by the neck before she could make contact with the floor, however, and held her up, as if for Crystal to see. In a moment more, she knew that something strange was going on, because she heard the voice of Doctor Doom echoing through the hallway that she was in.

"Crystal, you confuse me. Here you are, alone after allowing your new friends to fall at my hands, and yet, we both know that you have the power to protect them."

"I... I don't..." Crystal objected nervously, "My powers are spent."

"There's another power that you have." Doom said, sounding happy with the look of shock and dismay on her face, "I wasn't aware that you had any additional powers before I imprisoned you, but I recognized the way that the wood of your cell was broken. Do not underestimate me, Crystal. I know of your true power, and I doubt I'm the only one. However, I can't understand why you haven't used it since you broke into my castle. It's clearly strong enough to shatter stone and twist metal. Why would you hold that power in reserve? How can you justify having the power to help others, and not using it?"

Crystal was stunned, terrified, and confused for a moment. It was a hard kind of question to answer, because she'd been mostly trying to ignore it up to that point. However, it was only then that Crystal realized the truth about Doom's question. Doom was asking her that question, because he was the kind of person who used all the power that he could. To Doom, power was something to be used constantly, and as much as possible, to solve as many problems as possible, and the more powerful a person was, the more problems they should be solving. When she came to that realization, Crystal knew what her answer had to be.

"It's because I'm not like you, Doom." Crystal said at last, "We may both want the same things, and maybe the world really would be better off with someone like you as its leader, but people deserve the chance to make some choices for themselves. Ever since I realized I had this power, I knew I had to hide it, because I was afraid that the people I cared about would think I was a monster. Maybe what I did wasn't the best thing. Maybe I was just being selfish, and maybe I was wrong, but I'm glad I had the chance to make that choice for myself. I believe in doing the right thing, Doom, but I'm not enslaved to that."

For a few moments, Doom was silent, as if he were contemplating Crystal's words, but when he spoke again, it was obvious that what she'd said hadn't changed his mind in the least.

"I see." he said sadly, "So it was mere emotional embarrassment. I would have preferred to think that inhumans were more mature than that. Still, I'm glad to know your reasons. It gives me a better idea of how to cope with you. The truth, Crystal, is that what matters most of all is not the right to choose, but the wellbeing of everyone. If people can live good and joyous lives, it doesn't matter whether they chose that path or not."

In just a second more, jets of knockout gas sprayed out into the hallway, and Crystal could feel herself losing consciousness, as Doom turned off the speakers to that section of the castle.

* * *

"Disappointing." Doom thought with a sigh, as he pushed himself back from the monitoring terminals, and got to his feet. He wasn't disappointed that he'd managed to capture the intruders, but rather, that none of them had been able to teach him anything new. Doom loved learning new things, and he'd hoped that one or more of the invaders might have had a philosophy, or tidbit of knowledge that would truly be worth considering, or even delaying his plans for. Doom, however, had captured all of the invaders quickly, and not one of them had given him anything worth thinking about. It was a grave disappointment to him, but in a way, it only validated him in his decisions. Doom was more convinced than ever that he was both the most intelligent human being, and the most compassionate one as well. That, he decided, was what he'd really needed to know.

However, as Doom returned to his throne room, closing the observation room door behind himself, he didn't quite feel ready to relax. There was at least one other person who was probably going to try to oppose him in a short time, and she was the most dangerous of them all.

In fact, as soon as Doom turned away from the large hole in the wall of his castle, which Namor had made, he heard the sound of a metallic device attaching itself to his leg. In just a second more, the object exploded, and Doom had only a fraction of a second to use the obsidian stone to set up a barrier around himself, preventing the explosion from damaging his armor.

Doom knew at once who the culprit was, though he couldn't see her, for the moment. Only a few people knew of her affiliation with the Avengers, but Doom knew about Natalia's history as the vigilante known as Widow. From everything he'd heard about her, she sounded very clever, and very skilled. Doom knew that even without her allies to back her up, he couldn't afford to take Widow lightly.

At once, the shadows all around Doom rushed forward towards him, stopping a short distance away. Doom had hoped that Widow would be hiding somewhere in those shadows, and that by using the obsidian stone, he could seize her, and end the battle quickly. However, rather than Widow, the shadows that Doom had summoned forth had carried more bombs toward him. In a flash, Doom tried to command the shadows to cover the bombs, but he was too late, and the explosions covered him from all sides.

Doom could feel that his armor had suffered some kind of damage due to the explosions, and he was aching a little from the noise and bright lights. Even so, he'd come out of that clever trap relatively unharmed, and he knew where Widow was.

In a moment, Doom looked directly upward, and found that Widow was using some kind of thick cord to suspend herself from the crack in the ceiling, which Doom had set up the room's central light fixture in. Again, she'd impressed him. It must have taken pinpoint accuracy to latch onto that one tiny spot in the room with her cord. Still, Doom had found her, and that meant that the fight was over.

Raising one hand, Doom fired a blast of ionized energy at Widow's position. She managed to flip to one side, avoiding it, but the blast tore through the ceiling, to which her cord was attached, and in a moment, she'd fallen to the floor, though she landed cleanly on her feet, pulling out two small devices, that closely resembled brass knuckles, except that they crackled when she squeezed them. Doom smiled upon seeing that. Widow was very resourceful, but since he'd acquired the obsidian stone, those kinds of weapons were useless against him.

In just a second, the Shadows rose up to seize Widow's ankles, holding her in place, and Doom felt a little sad once again, as those shadows crept upward, along her legs, causing more and more of her body to freeze in place.

"You know, that Russian super soldier program was really very advanced in a lot of ways." Doom said, drawing a look of contempt from Widow, "Yes. I know everything there is to know about that project, including the names and origins of all of the test subjects, and what happened to each of them. I think it might surprise you to find out that you're not the only one to benefit from the project, Widow. Somehow, a man working in the American military wound up with the exact same gift as you, and he's caused me no end of trouble. I was a little afraid you'd be the same way, and yet, when the time came to actually confront you, you didn't measure up. I suppose I should be glad. Now my plans can proceed forward without further interruptions."

By that point, Widow's whole body was completely covered by the shadows, and she couldn't do anything but stand in that one spot, and listen as Doom explained his plan.

"As we speak, my androids are traveling out, all across the world, each with the intention of taking a major world leader into custody. Of course, doing this will undoubtedly lead to war on a global scale, but I'm ready for that kind of battle. I've already created thousands of androids, each of which has the power needed to level cities and destroy oncoming missiles. When it comes to war, the nations of the world will fall quickly before our speed and power, and then... Then there will be peace forever under Doom."

"Forever?" Widow asked, confused, "Doom, you're just one man. You can't possibly be telling me you're immortal."

"A man is immortal as long as there's someone or something to carry on his will." Doom replied, "I can safely say that by that definition, I will never die."

"Maybe you're right." Widow replied, "But whether you die or not, you will be stopped."

"Defiance." Doom said sadly, as he approached her, "What a shame. Tell me something, Widow. Who or what will be able to stop me?"

At that point, however, Widow smiled, and her next words terrified Doom.

"No. That would be telling."

"You know something." Doom muttered angrily, "There's someone else who plans to oppose me, isn't there? Who is it? Answer me!"

Widow, however, wasn't giving an inch. She just continued to smile, as she said "Guess."

Doom felt almost like cursing as he looked around for whoever else might have been preparing to attack him. It made no sense. He'd captured, destroyed, or imprisoned every being who would have been able to challenge him. There wasn't anyone else. For a moment, he wondered if the Avengers might have recruited help from a mutant, or group of mutants, but the last he'd heard, the X-men were in space, fighting with Magneto. Besides, mutants weren't really that different from other people. Doom had several as citizens in Latveria, and they generally responded to the same kind of lifestyle, and the same kind of justice as ordinary people. However, the question remained. Who was Widow talking about?

For a moment, a terrifying realization gripped Doom, as he tried to contact the prison chambers through his armor, but they weren't responding. Something had obviously gone wrong.

Suddenly, just as that fact was registering inside Doom's brain, a hand had reached out from the hallway, and seized the Obsidian Stone from his grasp.

"No!" Doom exclaimed, but it was too late. The hand, and the arm that it had been attached to had retreated into the darkness, and Doom knew who it was that had taken away his most powerful weapon.

Just as Doom was about to march into the hallway, to try and claim the stone again, he felt a thin, powerful hand come down around the metal sheets that covered his neck, and realized in dismay that he'd been routed. Without the stone, Doom couldn't keep Widow in her shadowy prison, and he knew whose hand was over his throat.

"I wouldn't move if I were you." Miss Marvel said from behind him, "It's over, Doom. You lost."

Then Doom heard the voice of Doctor Strange, speaking an ancient and powerful spell.

"Let this stone of darkness be bound forevermore to the void beyond reality by the power of the bands of imprisonment surrounding our dimensions. Let Earth be rid of it for all time."

In another moment, the obsidian stone had vanished from the Earth, and from all the dimensions it existed in. Doom couldn't do a thing, but watch as his source of overwhelming physical power was finally swept beyond his reach, to a place that he might never be able to go.

Doom was furious, but for the moment, he was also at a loss. His most dangerous opponents had escaped from their cells, and if they refused to listen to reason, then his position was a very bad one.

"Now what?" Doom asked, as Reed Richards and Steven Strange stepped from the shadows in the hallway, "Doctor Richards? Doctor Strange?"

"Now you're going to release the Avengers and the Fantastic Four, and anyone else you've captured during this attempt on world conquest." Reed said with some anger in his voice.

"Yes, yes. I know," Doom replied a little impatiently, "but what about your decision? I made each of you an offer. In spite of our differences, and our past grievances, that offer still stands."

"I can't help you seize power, Doom." Reed answered, but Doom shook his head as much as he could, and closed both eyes.

"I know, Doctor Richards." Doom said, "You're a scientist, and little else. In a way, I'm surprised that you took action to protect your fellow man at all. You never seemed as proactive as all that. Still, if you don't want to assist me, or don't see the value in what I'm trying to accomplish, then I invite you to live here in Latveria with me. I can promise you a high position among our top scientists, and all the resources that you could ever want, if you agree to simply live in peace, while I tend to the fate of the Earth."

"And you, Doctor Strange..." Doom continued, looking at his other former rival, "You're so eager to protect mankind from external threats. Are you really in such a good position? If I'm successful, and the world is reformed, won't it make it that much easier to defend mankind? Won't mankind itself thank you, just as Latveria thanks me?"

"I can't let you do that, Doom." Reed replied, shaking his head.

"Doing right, and protecting the right thing isn't just about sculpting your surroundings to achieve a certain result." Strange replied, "Universal values do exist, Doom, and I believe you've learned the correct ones, but in your desperation to banish all darkness from the human race, you're committing actions that welcome darkness into your soul."

"Do I seem as if I've wavered in my resolve, Richards?" Doom asked in a somewhat accusing tone, "Have I been in any way tainted by the things that I've been forced to do in the name of saving mankind? Did I overreact in some manner? Was there another solution that I overlooked? Richards, in college, you showed me more than once that your intellect was a match for my own. Tell me something. Have you found a better solution? I swear on the throne of Latveria that if there is a solution that can come without bloodshed or brainwashing, I will take it. Well? Is there a better solution? Is there?"

Reed had to pause for a moment to think over his reply, but when he did reply to Doom, it was clear that he'd made up his mind about something very important.

"Doom," Reed said, "I think you're probably right. There is no good way to end mankind's suffering and needless murders globally. It's a terrible kind of world that forces people to make the decision between allowing murder and causing it, and I understand how you could be driven to make that decision mathematically. If you really do feel for each of those people as a person, instead of a number, I can even understand how you could be so desperate, and I don't think you've lost the desire to make things truly right and just for as many people as possible, but there's one thing that I think you've overlooked."

"And that would be?" Doom asked.

"This isn't just about you." Reed said, his expression darkening, "Doom, it's true that war causes a lot of death, and creates a lot of corpses, but there's one other thing that it creates; something else that you can't afford to have in your ideal world; killers."

For a moment, the expression in Doom's eyes turned to one of confusion, then worry, then shock, and finally, to sadness.

"You mean the men who kidnapped you, the guards who fought with the intruders into my castle, and the countless men and women who fought by my side in the war with Vladimir." Doom observed aloud, "It's a worry of mine that the conflicts of their lives might lead them into darkness. I admit, none of them are Doom. It's one of the reasons that I wanted to use androids as much as possible in the war itself. After the war was over, I needed to do much convincing to remind the people that a peaceful life was truly the best kind. I'm afraid that some of their aggressive feelings; which I had to work hard to train them to ignore; came from the rebellion, and the war. Even now, there are some who long for a time when they can fight for the good of the world, as I do. I fear that many misinterpret my example, and my actions. Until now, I didn't take that aspect too seriously, however."

For a few moments, Doom was silent, as Miss Marvel released him, but when he spoke again, his voice was full of determination.

"The current plan will stop right now." Doom said, though he was obviously disappointed, "All of my androids will turn back from their missions outside of Latveria's borders, until I've had the time I need to develop a better plan."

"Then you're not surrendering?" Reed asked, not sure how to interpret Doom's words.

"By no means." Doom replied, "You can kill me if you have to, but the human race needs me too much. I can't simply stay my hand, while one wicked deed after another goes unopposed. For the moment, and perhaps for quite some time, you'll have nothing to fear from me, but you're right about one thing, Doctor Richards; to the people of Latveria, I am a savior; a role model. It would do much damage to teach them that their greatest role model is so eager to start conflict."

"What are you planning, Doom?" Strange asked, "This isn't over. I can tell."

"I am Victor Von Doom." Doom explained, "I'm as brilliant a genius as this world has ever seen, and my desire to heal the human race exceeds that of any man I've ever encountered. With all of that brilliance, and all of that will, do you think I won't be able to design a machine that will coax the human race into accepting me?"

Reed looked a little worried, and Miss Marvel even more so. Strange seemed unconcerned for the moment, but Miss Marvel obviously felt that she had to voice her fears.

"I don't like this. He's still planning to take over; he just wants to do it by brainwashing."

"Suggestion, not brainwashing." Doom corrected her, "It's a slower method than war, but its chances for success aren't much smaller, and as you may have noticed, Doctor Richards, its consequences are far less severe. In time, when the people of the world have learned to live peacefully, I should be able to turn the device off. If I can't, it will mean that I've failed."

For a moment, however, Reed seemed just as concerned as Miss Marvel. At last, he spoke to her directly, as if Doom hadn't said a word.

"Miss Marvel, I don't like it either, but I wouldn't feel right about hurting Doom, or trying to dethrone him. We may think of him as a monster, but to the thousands of people living in Latveria, he's a messiah. It's not our job to take away their savior as long as he's sworn off violence against the rest of the world."

"Besides," Strange added, "The sacred eye of Agamotto will allow me to see the truth, even through the most invasive brainwashing. If Doom chooses to take a barbaric course of action, I'll know about it, and I'll do what I have to, in order to stop him."

"You'll forgive me if I don't invite any of you to stay for dinner." Doom said, as he returned to his throne a moment later, and started pushing buttons, "I consider the four of you to be saboteurs and thieves, despite the fact that you've given me much to think about, and something new to aspire to. I must ask you to take your friends and..."

However, just as Doom was speaking, he seemed to have heard something very worrying, because he paused, snapping to attention at once.

"No..." Doom muttered, getting up, and rushing for the door out. However, Reed Richards was blocking his path just as he was about to storm out of the throne room.

"What's going on, Doom?" Reed asked, "What about our friends?"

"There's no time to worry about that." Doom replied a little too quickly, "Something horrible has just happened."

Reed didn't speak in reply to that, but he also didn't move. It was clear that he wanted an explanation, and Doom knew there wouldn't be enough time.

"Fine then." Doom said, returning to his throne, and pressing a few buttons, "Your friends are free now. I fear I don't have any more time to deal with this, however, and I really wish that you hadn't banished the obsidian stone, Strange."

"Why?" Strange asked, confused, "Doom, what's going on?"

"If you want to know, then follow me." Doom said, "If the others also want to know, they also can follow me. However, there are people in danger right now, and my help is needed. I alone can respond to this kind of catastrophe."

"No." Miss Marvel said in a clear, strong voice, as Reed stepped aside, "You don't need to be alone this time, Doom."

* * *

Once Miss Marvel had learned about the meteorite that was headed towards Chicago, she'd flown off in that direction, at speeds well exceeding that of sound, passing through the upper atmosphere as she did so, in order to avoid hurting anyone with her speed. The Avengers knew that they could count on her to take care of that, but there was also a bigger problem headed in their direction; one that the rest of them would need to work together to solve.

Doom had received a message on his communicator, not only about the Chicago meteorite, but about an even greater danger. He had a group of people who monitored television and radio waves, and brought important factors to his attention, and the transmission they'd recently picked up was exceedingly important.

"Attention." the transmission had begun, "I don't know how to transmit to only a few people, so everyone's going to hear this broadcast. This is Cyclops of the X-men. My teammates and I have succeeded in seizing control of Magneto's asteroid base. There won't be any more meteor attacks if we have anything to say about it. Unfortunately, it seems that Magneto's power was the only thing holding this asteroid in orbit. Without him, this base will fall to Earth in a matter of hours. We can use our powers to slow its descent, but we can't stop it alone. Rather than pretend we have things under control, we decided to contact the people whose help we need most. We have no idea where this asteroid will fall after it enters Earth's atmosphere, but the risk that it might collide with a populated area is too great. That's why we've decided to call for help from the Avengers, and anyone else powerful enough to stop a falling asteroid. Please, help us stop this threat. Help us save those people."

Those were the words that Doom had allowed Doctor Strange to read in his mind, and transmit into the minds of the Avengers and the Fantastic Four. Doom needed only a few moments to use one of his machines to detect the meteor's position, and determine where it was most likely to fall, but not everyone, he knew, could make the trip all the way to Algeria, where it seemed most likely to touch down. Thinking quickly, Doom calculated the resources available to the group, and devised a plan in seconds. It would have taken him less than a second, but for one factor; Crystal.

Doom knew that Crystal had the power to make a great deal of difference in the fate of the people of Algeria. With her power, she could not only reach the place as quickly as anyone, but she could probably stop the asteroid completely, once the others had slowed it down. The problem with that idea was that Doom knew she'd never agree to go through with it. Based on what she'd told him before, Crystal was utterly unwilling to use her true powers in front of others. She might have had the time she needed to rethink that standpoint since their discussion, or she might not have, but Doom knew that he couldn't afford to depend on her. It was annoying, but he'd needed to develop a secondary plan, involving She-Hulk instead.

Any plan would eventually come down to an attempt to slow the asteroid's descent, while one person, or a few people tried to catch it in some manner. Many Avengers could make some difference in the speed of its descent, but the thing was the size of a mountain, and that was something that only someone with the strength of the Hulk could deal with.

Of course, to make the plan work, Doom was going to need to take a risk. He was going to need to open his mind to the Avengers, in order to give them his commands. The risk was that Doctor Strange was a more powerful psychic than Doom, and might easily take advantage of him. Still, Doom was willing to do what was necessary for the greater good. In fact, it was his defining characteristic.

In moments, Doom sent out messages to Black Bolt, Iron Man, the Human Torch, Doctor Strange, and the Submariner, to explain the plan to them, and to She-Hulk, to explain her part of the plan. She was to proceed to his garage at once, to acquire one of his flying machines, and follow them through the air, towards the place where the asteroid was rapidly descending.

However, as Doom and the Avengers approached that site, Doom could see that something amazing was happening. A blast of crimson force was shooting out from the asteroid at the ocean to the north, causing huge waves in the water, and providing a counter-force for the asteroid's descent, altering its course and speed. Doom was pleased to see that, because it was going to make his job much easier.

"Continue to fire that beam weapon of yours, Cyclops." Doom said to him telepathically, "We will do the rest."

That was when Doom activated the machine that he knew would make the biggest difference. It was a magnetic anti-gravity device, capable of lifting a skyscraper from its foundations. At one time, he'd intended to use it in his quest to seize power, but that hardly seemed feasible anymore. The machine consisted of a series of small cannisters, and the moment that Doom activated it, it followed its programming, splitting into a group of machines, which attached themselves to the asteroid on a number of different sides, exerting magnetic force over it, and slowing its descent. At that point, it was time for the Avengers to execute their part of the plan.

Being careful not to hit any of the people below, the human torch had started plunging through the rock, creating pockets of lava, which spilled out, and fell to the ground below, but fortunately, didn't hit anyone or anything. Meanwhile, Black Bolt, Iron Man, and Namor were struggling to manage the rest of the asteroid's weight, as Doctor Strange chanted in mid-air nearby, trying to decrease its total weight even further, by teleporting small sections of it directly into the ocean. In the end, even without the help of Miss Marvel, they'd managed to maneuver the asteroid towards She-Hulk, who was waiting on top of the nearest mountain.

For a few moments, it seemed as if even She-Hulk's mighty shoulders would be crushed by the descending mountain of metal and stone, but then, she started to get angry, and in moments, she'd gotten a firm grip on the asteroid, stopping its downward descent entirely. The mission was a success, and the people down below were safe. All that remained was to rescue the X-men, and determine what to do with the remains of the asteroid.

* * *

The cleanup took several hours. Though the immediate danger was gone, a lot still needed to be done to take the asteroid apart, and dispose of its pieces. Even once Miss Marvel returned to help, the job still took quite a while.

Throughout the entire cleanup procedure, not a word was spoken about Doom or Latveria. The Avengers knew that they had a job to do, and they knew that confronting Doom right away wouldn't help things any, but at the end of it all, as the recently-returned Miss Marvel dropped what remained of the fractured asteroid into the ocean, Doom seemed satisfied with the job they'd done that day. He was quite willing, after all he'd done already, to simply return to Latveria without another word, and continue work on his plans. However, just as he was turning to go, he found that a small, angry-looking man was blocking his path, and another, taller man was standing behind him. They were the Mole Man and the Submariner, and it seemed that they weren't just willing to let Doom walk away from that.

"Is there something that you two need?" Doom asked innocently enough. His voice betrayed no true malice; no anger, in fact, of any sort.

"Doom, I warned you that your actions were about to start a war, and you didn't heed my warnings." Namor said, "Do you honestly think that I'll leave things as they are now, just like that?"

"That depends on which you value more; peace or revenge." Doom replied.

It was the perfect reply, of course, because that was indeed the choice that Namor was faced with. Once more, however, he tried to put the blame back on Doom's shoulders.

"Doom, the choice was yours to make, and your decision was the wrong one."

"I did what I thought was necessary, at the time." Doom replied a little sadly, "It doesn't make me happy that we were cast into the role of enemies, rather than allies, Submariner. Regardless, you're now free, and your people won't need to worry about your health. You need not even tell them that you were captured. I certainly don't intend to. Honestly, I think we've been given a second chance. At this point, I have no intention of attacking you directly again. If there's going to be war between our nations, you'll be the one to strike first."

Those words shook Namor up a little, reminding him once again of the position that he was in, and the heavy weight of responsibility that hung about his shoulders. However, although Namor's resolve was weakening as he thought about his own duties to his people, the Mole Man seemed as determined as ever.

"What of you, Mole Man?" Doom asked, "Are you truly so eager for war?"

The Mole Man, however, scowled as he replied to Doom.

"Doom, you attacked me; you imprisoned me, and all of my companions. Did you honestly think that after all of that, there would be no consequences at all?"

"I've embarrassed you terribly, haven't I?" Doom asked, with a slight edge of disappointment in his voice.

"I am the Mole Man." was the reply, "Embarrassment means nothing to one such as I. What you have done is worse; you've assaulted and imprisoned the lord of all Subterra. I will have restitution for that. I will have justice."

"Justice?" Doom asked, seemingly a bit confused, "Are you saying you don't intend to kill me?"

"I didn't say that." the Mole Man replied, his expression souring as he spoke, "I'm still contemplating that course of action."

"You want me to talk you out of it." Doom correctly assumed, "You want me to beg you for mercy."

The Mole Man didn't reply to that, but it was obvious that Doom's guess had been correct.

"That's something that I can't do." Doom replied, his anger starting to show just a little, "You know the responsibilities that a great ruler needs to face, and one of the heaviest is the responsibility of providing security for one's people. How much faith do you think the people of Latveria will have in me if I grovel before the lord of another nation?"

"You can't tell me that you have no fears for yourself, and you must know the type of damage I'm capable of doing." the Mole Man replied, "If you won't humble yourself, then I deserve that much more restitution for what you did, to make up for the lack of satisfaction."

Doom seemed a little distracted when the Mole Man said that, but at last, he said, "You're saying that you want a bribe, in order to prevent war."

It was a trick question, of course, intended to play off the more honorable and shameful nature of a nation's ruler, but there, Doom's ploy didn't work. The Mole Man had long outgrown his shame.

"Yes I am," the Mole Man said firmly, "and it had better be a satisfying bribe, or I swear I'll kill you where you stand."

"In that case, we should talk about this in private." Doom said, at which point the Mole Man nodded, and he and Doom started to walk away from Namor, to the other side of that small Algerian town, where they wouldn't be overheard.

* * *

Later in the evening, Doom passed through the main gates of his castle again, and was welcomed back by his subjects, most of whom were eager to learn what had transpired between Doom and the Avengers. Not one of them would have supported the Avengers over Doom. They loved their leader and trusted him. He was their savior.

However, as Doom closed the door to his inner chambers, he heard something that drew his attention, and turned a little to look for the person who'd made that noise. As usual, she was well-hidden in shadows, but Doom knew that she was there.

"What are you looking for?" Doom asked, "Haven't you done enough damage to the world for one day?"

"I'm looking for answers." Widow replied, "You could have destroyed me easily today."

"Likewise," Doom said blankly, "but I have no desire to destroy my enemies. What I really want is to convince them of my good will, so that I no longer need to fight against them. Doing so decreases the need for bloodshed, and I'd hoped that you might actually care what happens to the world. I'm sorry that wasn't the case."

"What about Crystal?" Widow asked, undeterred, "Will you keep her secret?"

"It's petty of her to keep such a secret from her teammates, but yes." Doom replied, "I have no reason to reveal the truth about her powers."

"In that case, I have just one more question." Widow replied, "Tonight, you told me that another person benefited from the soviet program that gave me my special nature. Can you tell me his name?"

For a few moments, there was a look of deep thought in Doom's eyes, but at last, he said "I don't see any reason to give you that information. At present, I owe the man in question nothing, but I owe you even less."

"Then I might never know if there's still someone out there like me." Widow realized with a sadness in her heart, which she dared not show to Doom.

"You'll know, alright." Doom replied with a smirk, "He's too careful to have not noticed you. I suspect that he'll track you down in the end. At that point, if he decides to explain things to you, so be it."

Widow found that reply a little worrying, but she faded away into the shadows nonetheless, leaving Doom alone.

* * *

Widow had two other people who she felt she needed to talk to that night, and as luck would have it, one of them was just outside Doom's castle, waiting for her to arrive.

"Mole Man." Widow said, as she approached him, and the two started to walk towards the jets that Tony Stark had hired out for their transport back to the United States.

"Widow." Mole Man acknowledged back.

"Your actions caught me off guard just now, or rather your inactions." Widow admitted.

"Doom and I arrived at an agreement of sorts." the Mole Man replied, "I mean to honor our bargain."

"I just hope you know what you're doing." Widow replied, at which point, the Mole Man frowned a bit more deeply.

"I always have a plan." the Mole Man said, "Frequently more than one."

Those were all the words that were spoken by either of them, until after the Widow was returned to US soil.

* * *

The Mole Man grinned, as he descended through one of the passages leading into Subterra, in one of his drill machines. At last, the machine came to a stop, and the Mole Man emerged back into his underground realm. There, he could hear the familiar sounds of his subjects at work at his machines, each with a purpose of their own, each pleased, in their own way, with the safety that the Mole Man offered them. As he listened to those familiar and comforting sounds, the Mole Man got a good grip on his staff, and aimed it at one of the nearby terminals, which opened up to reveal his lab. In another moment, the Mole Man had removed a small device from his belt, and placed it on one of the lab tables with a grin.

"A unified field disrupter..." the Mole Man thought to himself in amazement, as he began to take the strange object apart, examining its inner workings carefully. It was a very impressive bribe indeed.

* * *

Crystal made certain to contact Medusa and Karnak once she'd gotten back to the Avengers mansion. Undoubtedly, they would have been terrified by her disappearance, but they were very relieved to hear that she'd returned, and was perfectly safe, as was their king.

However, as Crystal ended her transmission to Attilan, she was startled by the sound of someone clearing her throat nearby. Crystal knew who it was, however, and was just as worried as she had been the last time the two had spoken.

"Widow." Crystal said sadly, "I guess we have to talk."

"Not really," Widow replied, "but I feel obligated to try to convince you to reconsider your decision."

"Then... Then it's true." Crystal muttered, "You really do know what happened to me."

"Yes." Widow said, "I wasn't sure at first, but now I am. I'm not the only one either. Submariner suspects, I think. I know the Mole Man has enough evidence to draw that conclusion as well, although he's keeping his mouth shut, and I don't want to tell him any more without your permission."

"You mean..." Crystal muttered, still worried, "You're not going to tell them?"

"No." Widow said, "You are."

Crystal was very much taken aback by those words, but when Widow spoke next, there was no mistaking the urgency in her voice.

"Crystal, you have a power that no one else alive has, and you've kept it secret from your friends, and all the people we're supposed to be trying to protect as Avengers. I can fault Doom for being misguided, but at least he's proactive, and willing to use his full abilities in the pursuit of his goals. Furthermore, I think he's accomplished quite a few things that wound up being good in the end. Strange and Richards know more about one another now, and they've been talking more often, for instance. She-Hulk seems more confident than ever in her abilities, and in general, I'd say that the whole superhuman community has gotten a little better acquainted because of what happened over the last couple of days. If you continue to have that power, and continue to avoid using it, even when it's most needed, the guilt isn't going to get any easier to take. It's only going to be harder on you."

"Don't you see?" Crystal asked, worry and anger fighting in her voice, "If I let them know what I can really do, and they start to think of me as a monster, nobody's ever going to be able to look at me the same way again. Things would never be the same between Johnny and me..."

"Change is the nature of any relationship." Widow replied, "If you don't embrace that, you're only hurting yourself."

However, just as Widow was turning to leave the room, she seemed to think better of it, and said one last thing before vanishing again.

"For what it's worth, Crystal, I think you're worrying for nothing. Anyone worth being around will be able to look beyond superficial differences like that, or even enjoy them."

Even after Widow disappeared, though, Crystal couldn't bring herself to feel much better about her situation. She was running the decision over in her mind again; a decision she'd been ignoring too much recently.

* * *

Doom had had a very relaxing sleep on the night after his failed attempt on world power, and when he woke up the following morning, he was feeling as refreshed as he ever had. As he put on his mask and armor, in preparation for the day's work, he wasn't the least bit worried or remorseful, but as always, he was eager to get started.

Quickly, once Doom was dressed, he moved over to one of the computer terminals on one side of the room, pleased to see how quickly and easily it turned on, in response to his approach. In seconds, he'd opened one of his personal files, which was labeled "Plan B."

Despite the loss of the Obsidian Stone, and his own initial failure to seize global power, Doom was feeling pretty good. People still suffered, but he knew what he had to do. Victor Von Doom always had his duty.

* * *

End


	23. Issue 23: Confidant

Tales From the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 23

"Confidant"

* * *

Peter Parker smiled as he opened the front door to his aunt's house. He remembered when he'd been younger, and he used to enter through that very door, seeing the house as such a large place; a place that was incredible and fascinating, because someone had worked so hard to maintain it. Of course, that had been before Uncle Ben had died. In those days, Ben had worked hard, and the money he'd earned had supported the house, and the other members of his family, even if he'd never been rich enough to afford retirement. Uncle Ben had lived life by his morals, rather than by what needed to get done for survival, but he'd always managed to make just enough to pay another set of bills. Even so, there'd been threats hanging over his head. The threat of running out of money, and not being able to continue supporting everyone on the following month was one of the most common threats that Uncle Ben and Aunt May had faced. It was a threat that had been horrible and harsh, because whether or not Uncle Ben kept his job depended largely on how the hire-ups in his company handled their end of things. Jobs were something that you needed to be able to depend on, and there was nothing in the world that was so undependable.

In that respect, Peter felt fortunate. His own job with Anthony Stark was a dangerous one, and it regularly put his life on the line, and forced him to leave his neighborhood, sometimes involuntarily, but his money troubles had quickly vanished, even as Aunt May's had increased. Of course, Peter had learned his lesson from Ben Parker's death. He knew that he had to use his power to help people. As Spider-man, Peter found himself able to both save people who needed saving, and also help Aunt May pay the bills, and Flash Thompson was giving him fewer problems at school. Mary Jane seemed to actually want to talk to him, and in general, lots of things were really going Peter's way.

Unfortunately, there were some problems that money couldn't solve. Peter's obligations to Harry had been very important to him from the start, and they still seemed important, despite the inconvenience, but there'd been times when Peter hadn't been able to make it to his appointments with Harry. For instance, the time where he and most of the other Avengers had been kidnapped by Doctor Doom. Even once he'd been liberated from Doom's prison, Peter had needed to come up with lots of excuses for Harry, his teachers, and Aunt May, as to why he'd been missing for so long. His Aunt had, she claimed, been worried sick about him. He'd tried to tell her that he'd been on an impromptu business trip, which was true enough, but that explanation clearly hadn't been enough for her, nor would it apparently stop her from worrying if any future problems of that sort popped up. Harry had felt abandoned when Peter hadn't shown up for their scheduled tutoring session. After all, Harry's very livelihood depended on those sessions, and he wasn't a very good student. He did need Peter's help. In contrast, coming up with excuses for his absence that would satisfy his school teachers had been fairly easy. Peter certainly didn't think that his teachers would miss him too much if he suddenly moved away and never returned, but Harry and Aunt May were different. They were important people in Peter's life, and he was important to them.

As Peter stepped into the kitchen, he could see Aunt May there, looking through a copy of the Daily Bugle. It was the paper she'd read for as long as Peter had known her, but he didn't feel as bad about that as he once had. Things had changed, both for her and for the Bugle.

"Peter." Aunt May said in delight and relief, as she noticed him entering the kitchen, and dropping his school bag near the door, "I'm glad to see you. I was worried you might have disappeared again."

Deep down inside, Peter Parker wanted to reprimand his Aunt for worrying so much about him. After all, he was growing to become an adult. He had good grades, a lot of obligations, and a job which, if somewhat unsafe, was at least rewarding. Even after he'd used the "business trip" excuse, Aunt May had still seemed worried. What more, Peter thought, did she want from him? Was she going to worry herself sick every time he went on a business trip of any sort after that? How was she going to cope with it when he finally moved out? Would she try to convince him not to go? Was she really that petty? Was it really only her own worries that dominated her thoughts?

In the end, Peter didn't voice any of those frustrated objections; another lesson that he'd learned from Uncle Ben's fate. Peter hadn't been treating his Uncle in the most loving way before the night when Ben had died. He didn't want to lose his Aunt in the same way; wondering whether he should have been nicer to her.

"Don't worry, Aunt May." Peter said sadly, "I'm going to be okay."

"I'm sorry, Peter." May replied, struggling to regain her composure, "I'm just too antsy right now. I'd forgotten about the tutoring that you said you were doing with that Osborne boy. That's... That's alright. That's good."

Aunt May's voice was still full of nervousness as she spoke, however, and Peter didn't need a spider-sense to tell him that she was afraid.

"What's the problem?" Peter asked, a little confused, "I mean, there's a big problem. I can tell."

"It's probably nothing..." Aunt May replied, "It's just that the phone bill is larger this month. Do you know why that is?"

"It's probably something to do with the modem." Peter replied casually, "Don't worry. I'll pay for it."

Of course, Peter was being perfectly honest about that. A month ago, he'd used some of his extra cash to purchase a computer with an internet connection. Naturally, that was bound to cost some extra money. He hadn't really paid it much thought, nor had he expected Aunt May to worry about it so much upon seeing the bill. Without any steady source of income, Aunt May needed to depend on Peter for virtually everything at that point, which was the only reason why he'd even considered using his powers in exchange for money. Something about it hadn't felt right to him at first, but he was gradually starting to realize that receiving a paycheck for doing the right thing wasn't bad or corrupt, and it was certainly better than most work situations, where a person was paid to contribute to the greed and corruption of their employers, or even to assist their bosses with morally-wicked personal agendas. When he'd thought about it like that, Peter could tell that he was really very fortunate. He had a chance that most people never get; the opportunity to do the right thing; the sort of thing that he was most passionate about, and get paid for it as well. That realization had stopped up the guilt rather nicely.

* * *

Ever since Uncle Ben had died, it had seemed as if Aunt May had lost what little confidence she'd originally possessed. It was, in some ways, becoming very difficult to deal with her, because no matter how hard Peter tried, he couldn't seem to get her to calm down and relax. The way she was going, Aunt May really would worry herself into an early grave, and, Peter gradually realized, he couldn't really do anything to prevent it. Aunt May had barricaded herself inside an impenetrable wall of worry and self-doubt. Peter could never have penetrated that wall, and it was only a few weeks after he'd realized that, that he'd given up trying. He would have liked nothing better than to help Aunt May, but it seemed as if she was refusing to accept his kind of help.

That night, Peter was feeling pretty exhausted. School had been easy, but his tutoring session with Harry had been excessively hard, and having finished eating his supper, Peter was very eager to get some rest. He threw on his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and made his bed in just a short time, then turned on his computer. He was, he decided, going to check his e-mail one last time, then shut off his computer and get some sleep. However, as he opened his e-mail box, what he saw was a great deal of spam. Most of the spam was from e-mail addresses he was familiar with, and he deleted them very efficiently, just as he always did. However, there was one e-mail that really caught Peter's eye, because although the e-mail's title looked generic, the "from" box was completely blank.

Peter had never seen an e-mail that didn't seem to come from any e-mail address before. In fact, he was fairly certain that without extensive reprogramming, e-mails didn't work that way. However, there was the e-mail, having come from no e-mail address. On the subject line, the words "you have been chosen" were written. It sounded like spam; as if someone were trying to sell Peter something, or offer him some kind of crooked "deal," but the fact that the e-mail didn't seem to have come from any real e-mail address still made it stick out. Peter Parker had a feeling that he was about to be suckered in some way, but nonetheless, he had to know what the e-mail was about, and who it was from. In a way, Peter was pretty surprised when he did actually open the e-mail, and found neither pictures nor attachments, both of which were typical staples of spam. All the e-mail contained was basic text, so Peter started reading.

"Peter Parker," the e-mail read, which was already a surprise. Most spam didn't call their recipients by name, "I fear that this isn't good news, because you'll soon be placed in a very grave position, along with a number of others worldwide. The entire human race now stands at a very deadly crossroads, and a decision about the worth of humanity must be reached quickly, if the Earth is to have even a prayer of survival. My research indicates that very few humans care as much about their fellow man as you do, and in addition, you also have a strong enough wit to express your reasons for caring so much."

"Unfortunately, these two qualifications are somewhat uncommon, but I've been able to identify over one hundred humans who possess them both. Now that the preparations are complete, judgment will need to be rendered. Undoubtedly, you'll have many questions about who I am, and why it's so important that judgment is passed regarding mankind. I'm afraid it would take a while to explain that, and you might not believe me, even if I did. For the moment, I'll merely say that humanity it more or less being tried to determine its worth, and you're being asked to speak on its behalf. If your words are original, unique, and convincing, you may succeed in saving your entire planet from annihilation. Send your defense as a reply to this e-mail, and I'll receive it. The responsibility of using peace and reason to protect your people rests on your shoulders. Good luck."

Then the e-mail ended with the screen name "Emissary."

Of course, Peter thought the whole e-mail was weird. Naturally, the person at the other end couldn't have been serious, though. It was probably a silly game, or some kind of chain letter scam that somebody had come up with. Maybe somebody that Peter knew was playing a prank of some kind on him. The problem with that theory, however, was that most of the people Peter knew were computer-illiterate, except for Harry and Norman Osborne, but it didn't seem like either of them would be likely to play a silly game with him like that. Obviously, whoever had sent the e-mail to him knew that his name was Peter Parker, but they probably didn't know that he was also Spider-man. Still, even if the e-mail was just part of some game, it couldn't, Peter decided, hurt to play along. After all, it wasn't as if he was being asked for any personal information.

Thinking over his words for a minute or so, Peter composed a quick reply to the e-mail, which might function as a brief legal defense for mankind, but would probably be seen mainly as a joke. Although Peter mentioned science, religion, and the arts as potential reasons why mankind deserves to exist, he also brought up things like donuts, cheeze-a-ritos, and extremely inexpensive t-shirts with catchy slogans on the front. Those elements of his speech were intended to be comedic, although, he suspected, if the person at the other end were taking it all seriously, those remarks might be viewed with some disapproval. At last, his masterpiece finished, Peter Parker pushed the "send" button, and watched as his reply e-mail disappeared, headed for whatever unknown location the first had come from. Then, he turned off the computer, and he was actually feeling a little better that night, as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

On the following day, Peter felt a little distracted for quite a bit of the time, although it wasn't really the e-mail he was thinking about. He was still a little worried about Aunt May. If he ever wound up dying on some important mission somewhere, she'd probably worry herself to death, even if she never found out that he'd been Spider-man. It didn't change the nature of what he had to do, but it wasn't easy to forget his Aunt, or her emotional weaknesses. Those worries kept popping back up into his thoughts, no matter what else he tried to think about in class.

At last, as lunchtime rolled around, Peter found himself wandering into the cafeteria, and his thoughts were a jumble of questions and concerns, hardly any of them really connected to one another.

"Maybe I should have mentioned the nature of the membrane around the cell in that last paper before..." Peter thought rapidly, as he took a seat, "Wonder where Harry is. I haven't seen him today... Hope Aunt May doesn't throw a... But the membrane thing doesn't apply to the kinds of cells that Mister Lawrence was talking about... Hope Harry does better in today's lesson. Wonder where he is. I hope he's not sick. If he... I'm worried about him. I wonder if this is how Aunt May feels... No. I don't worry myself sick like... Or do I? I wonder if I'd be sick if I weren't Spider-man. I hope the Avengers don't need my help tonight. If they try to... No. They know I have a busy schedule, and I can't always be there, but if there's a big emergency, then... I wonder how many of the other Avengers have to deal with these kinds of schedule problems. What? I think somebody just snuck up on me. Who's...? Oh, it's just Mary Jane. I hope she says something fast, or I'm definitely going to go nuts."

"Hey there, tiger." Mary Jane remarked, sitting down opposite Peter at the table he'd chosen, "Whatsamatter? Got a fork caught in the outlet or something?"

"Huh?" Peter asked, confused and unsure of what Mary Jane was implying.

"You're zipping all over the place." Mary Jane replied, "Your eyes look like they're vibrating. Can't you just relax once in a while? I mean, I know you're big on getting good grades and all that, but with all you've got going on in your life, you could really use a second to rest."

Peter still felt a little confused and bewildered, but Mary Jane's calm, yet somewhat-flippant manner was really helping him. Suddenly, it was becoming easier to slow down and order his thoughts in a manner of speaking. As Spider-man, Peter's thoughts naturally went faster than most people's, but Mary Jane had been right to draw his attention to the chaos that he'd been in recently. Those thoughts of his, zig-zagging in all different directions, were a mirror of what his life had mutated into. With all his obligations to school, Harry, Aunt May, and the Avengers, Peter barely had any time to himself, in spite of the great speed and strength that he enjoyed as a super-hero. It would probably have driven anyone else to the point of going totally nuts.

"I don't know." Peter replied, as Mary Jane bit into an apple from the other side of the table, looking a little worried about him, "I mean, if you had a million things to worry about, and a whole lot of people who needed your help all at once, and you just didn't have enough time to take care of it all, what would you do? I mean, how would you act?"

Mary Jane, however, smiled when Peter asked her that question, and it seemed obvious that she'd been waiting for the chance to answer a question like that one.

"If it were me," MJ replied, "I wouldn't take things all that seriously. In fact, I think I'd probably joke around even more the worse things got."

"Huh?" Peter asked, suddenly confused, "Why? I don't get it? I mean, why would you make jokes when things were that bad?"

"Well, everybody needs a good sense of humor, Peter." MJ replied with a smile, "Humor isn't just fun for good times; it's what keeps us from tearing ourselves to pieces when things don't go our way. I mean, we've gotta have a good sense of humor, especially when things get hard, because if we can't laugh at our problems at all, we just start to feel worse."

She was, Peter realized, probably right. Recently, he'd been trying too hard to be responsible, and get everything done, but more than trying too hard, he'd been thinking about it too hard. It had been a very long time since he'd loosened up and just had fun. When he realized that, Peter decided that Mary Jane's prescription sounded pretty good. At one point, he'd had a very good sense of humor, and all he really had to do was find some way of recovering it before the end of the day.

"I wonder where Harry is today." Peter noted, changing the subject, "I haven't seen him all day."

"I'm not good enough company?" Mary Jane asked with a bit of mock-hurt in her voice.

"No. No, nothing like that." Peter said, his thoughts rushing back to the present time, "I mean, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that if Harry's out sick today, I can probably get him to call off the tutoring session too. That way, I'd have an afternoon or so to have fun."

"Pete..." MJ replied, smiling kindly as she put her apple down again, "It doesn't really matter what you do after school. Having fun isn't about what you're doing. You just have to know how to do it right, no matter what you're doing."

* * *

That afternoon, after school, Peter decided to give Harry a call. Fortunately, with the money he'd been making recently, Peter had been able to afford a cell phone. He hadn't purchased one that was very expensive, or had a lot of features, but that was more out of a desire to not be wasteful than anything else. Peter had worked hard for every cent he owned, and he didn't want to start throwing it away until he had a decent nest-egg in the bank, if then.

"Harry? Yeah, it's Peter. A-huh. Yeah, I sort of figured. No, it's no big deal. I didn't give you my number. Tomorrow? Sure. Alright, bye."

Just like that, the question of whether or not Harry was sick had been settled, and Peter had a free afternoon of sorts. Aunt May had no idea that the meeting with Harry had been called off, which meant that she wouldn't worry any more than usual, so Peter had a chance to have some fun in his own special way.

In only a few minutes, Spider-man was off and swinging over the city, on the lookout for signs of trouble.

* * *

Steve was trembling a little as he planned out the crime in his head. There were only a few people left in the store, and none of them looked like fighters. He could probably make his move at any time, and nobody would try to stop him. Of course, in a city like New York, one could never tell for certain. With things as bad as they were, though, surely nobody could blame him for what he had to do.

Quickly, Steve walked up to the front desk and pulled the gun from his pocket, aiming it at the cashier. She screamed, and everyone else in the store froze. As planned, none of them moved to help her.

"The money." Steve said, "Now."

"I... I can't..." the girl exclaimed in mortal terror, "I can't open the register unless you try to buy something."

Quickly, Steve seized a candy bar in one hand, and dropped it on the counter.

"Now open the register." Steve replied, having planned it all out in advance. He himself had worked in more retail outlets than he wanted to remember. He knew how it all worked.

Quickly, the cashier did as she was told, handing over the money as fast as she could, in a small plastic bag that was usually reserved for purchases.

"What?" Steve asked a little suspiciously, "That's all?"

"We clear out the register down to a couple hundred bucks every few hours." the girl replied, still trembling in fear, "It's not my fault."

"Yeah, yeah." Steve replied, "I know how it works. You're just lucky I didn't have to waste a bullet on anybody."

With that, Steve bolted for the door and rushed outside, hiding his gun in one pocket as he went, but still keeping his hand on it. His car was three blocks away, and he was a very good sprinter. With luck, nobody from the store would be able to catch up to him in time to read his license plate.

However, just as Steve turned the corner and reached his car, he saw something that made him feel about ready to scream from fury and frustration.

Spider-man was leaning on the hood of his vehicle.

"You know, I'm as down on corporate micromanagement as anybody..." Spider-man said as Steve started to back away, clutching his gun, "plus, I like to think I've got a really good imagination. So tell you what I'll do. You tell me a story about the poor little guy who wanted to bring justice to his corporate bosses, and... except... wait. No. If that were the case, you'd be robbing executives, not some little convenience store. Oh, wait. I've got another one. Your wife and kids are being held hostage by the mafia, except... Whoops. No wedding ring. Scratch that. Okay, maybe you've got a poor, sick mother who... Well, come to think of it, that wouldn't really justify robbing somebody else... Sorry if it seems like I'm taking a while, but I'm just trying to come up with some reason for what you did that makes sense to a clear-headed human being. Something like maybe you've got cancer and can't get the money for chemo otherwise, or you need a lot of gold, to bribe evil aliens to go away and leave earth in peace, or maybe... maybe..."

Steve had just been too scared to make a move, as Spider-man had been speaking, but at that point, he pulled out his gun and fired. The bullet was bound to cost quite a bit, but if he could just kill Spider-man, it would be a much bigger victory for him than just making off with some cash, and it might be his only means of getting out of there.

However, the moment the bullet left the gun, Spider-man had leapt into the air, avoiding the shot cleanly, and Steve was too shocked and afraid to even try firing another. In moments, some thin webbing shot out, and the gun was yanked from Steve's hand. Then, in a second more, the gun had been hung, well out of Steve's reach, on the nearest lamppost, and Spider-man had landed back in front of him, and grabbed him by the front of his collar.

"Maybe you're just being a self-centered jerk." Spider-man said, and in another second, more webbing shot out, binding Steve around the arms and legs.

Steve had never felt so uncomfortable in his life, and he had a feeling that things weren't going to get any better for him.

* * *

Marylin had been scared out of her wits while the robbery had been taking place, but it had taken her several more minutes before she realized that she had other things to be afraid of too. Her supervisor could be merciless, and corporate was even more so. If as much as a dollar went unaccounted for, she'd probably be at least partly blamed for it. She remembered how fervently her supervisor had insisted that she do her best to "prevent shrink," as he'd called it. That was the cold-hearted, corporate term for making sure that nothing got stolen or lost, and she'd failed at that. Of course, she'd been faced with a gun barrel. There wasn't much she could have done to keep that man from taking the money, but still...

Marylin's thoughts were interrupted, however, by a voice that she'd never heard before; a voice that came from the doorway to the store, and sounded both cheerful, and slightly muffled. Whoever the voice belonged to, however, they were drawing a lot of attention. Every person in the store seemed to be turning to look at the new arrival.

"Somebody lose something?"

Quickly, Marylin turned to face the source of the voice, and gasped in surprise and delight. There stood one of the Avengers, and he was holding the bag that she'd given to the robber.

"Here. Catch." Spider-man said, tossing the bag to her, and Marylin obediently caught it, amazed by her good luck.

"Thank you very much, uh... Spider-man, right?" Marylin asked. She'd paid relatively little attention to the superhuman population of the world since they'd started re-emerging, but the person standing in front of her had been on the front covers of many newspapers in the past. It was definitely Spider-man.

"No problem." Spider-man replied with a nod, "Happy to help."

However, just as Spider-man was headed for the exit of the store, Marylin decided to mention one more thing to him.

"Actually..." she said, "How much time do you have?"

"Huh?" Spider-man asked, a little confused by the question.

"Well, it's just that I was wondering if you could come back a little later and tell my supervisor what happened. He's on his break right now, so..."

"I don't get it." Spider-man said, "Can't you do it?"

"Well, sure." Marylin replied, "but I think he'd take it better from you."

When she said it that way, something pretty unpleasant occurred to Spider-man, and he turned to face the many customers who were staring and pointing at him with a slight tilt of his head.

"Can you folks excuse us for a second? Thanks. We won't be long."

Some of the shoppers seemed a little antsy, but in general, they took the request well, re-examining the shelves they'd been picking things out of. Even the people who'd been in line at the front desk found something else to do for the moment, as Spider-man whispered to Marylin, "So what's the real problem? I mean, you got your money back. Why's your boss even need to know you were almost robbed?"

"He'll know." Marylin replied, "The computer says eighty-three cents is missing for the candy bar."

"The what?" Spider-man asked, tilting his head again, clearly lost.

"Look, I'm sorry." Marylin replied, "I don't want to keep you if there's some big global tragedy you need to help stop of something, and I guess it's kind of a silly problem, but I can't open the register unless somebody buys something. When that guy tried to rob me, I told him that, and he put that candy bar on the counter. Now, the next time somebody tries to buy something, I can put the money he stole right back in there, but the computer thinks that somebody bought that candy bar. If the eighty-three cents isn't in the register for the candy bar, somebody's going to notice."

"Can't you just refund it or something?" Spider-man asked, hoping for an easy solution.

"Who ever heard of giving a refund on a candy bar?" Marylin asked, "I mean, I think that might be the best solution, but it'd probably look just as suspicious."

"Yeah..." Spider-man muttered. Normally, Marylin's problem wouldn't have had much impact on him. After all, it was just a small issue, and with a little creativity, she could probably solve it by herself. However, he couldn't ignore the look of worry on her face. she was terrified that her boss was going to throw a fit over that misplaced eighty-three cents, or even make her pay for the candy, neither one of which would make her particularly comfortable or happy.

As Spider-man swung away from the convenience store, between the towering skyscrapers of New York, Marylin's feelings continued to haunt him. In any reasonable workplace, and to any reasonable boss, eighty-three cents lost on a computer technicality at gunpoint wouldn't have been a big deal. If her boss felt differently, that didn't speak well for the human race. It didn't speak well for the human race anyway, because the cashier had clearly been made to feel that even minor losses due to robberies were unacceptable and intolerable. She'd been made to feel afraid, because of the system that her bosses and managers had enforced; the system that the corporation she worked for had set in motion. When he realized that, Spider-man felt his faith in mankind slipping just a little.

* * *

As Peter crawled into his room through the window later that night, he was feeling very exhausted, but also a lot better than he had been before. The night's escapades had been hard, and disheartening at times, but at least it had gotten his thoughts off of how busy and worried he was.

After Peter took off his costume, and put his stuff away, however, he still had quite a number of things to take care of. He'd have to let Aunt May know that he was home. She'd obviously be worried by how late he'd gotten back, but he just hadn't been able to help himself. It had been a while since he'd gone out on his own as Spider-man, and just helped people out. It gave him a fantastic feeling inside to have that opportunity to help the innocent, and have fun.

Once he was done explaining himself to Aunt May, Peter had some homework to blaze through. After that, he took a short shower, and put on his pajamas, but by the time he returned to his room, something had happened that worried him.

It obviously wasn't dangerous, because it hadn't set off Peter's spider-sense, but at the same time, he knew for certain that he hadn't turned on his computer, or opened his e-mail, and yet, the computer was on, and the e-mail was open.

For a moment, Peter wondered if maybe Aunt May had turned on his computer, but that was unlikely, because she knew next to nothing about computers. In fact, it was impossible. Both his OS account, and in-box were locked with different passwords. Peter had thought that he himself was the only person who knew how to open his e-mail. That was how it should have been. For another moment, he wondered if maybe the reply he'd sent had gotten a hacker's attention, but that was just as ridiculous. Real computer hacking wasn't like the kind seen in the movies. Opening a person's in-box from another computer was next to impossible, and turning on another person's computer remotely was definitely impossible.

To Peter, the whole thing was a big, perplexing mystery. Of course, some kind of device might have been attached to his computer, which could have been tampering with his hard drive, but that also wasn't likely.

"Nobody'd go to the trouble to mess with my computer." Peter reasoned aloud, "I mean, I'm nothing special, right? Just a typical high school student."

Of course, it was a lie, but a harmless one. The idea of some technological genius being in control of his computer was a little worrying, particularly if it turned out to be someone like Doctor Doom, who had a reason to go after Spider-man, but nothing at all against Peter Parker. For the moment, Peter reasoned, he needed to play it cool, and hope that whoever was responsible...

"You are considerably more than that."

The message had appeared right in the message box of an e-mail that had opened itself, as Peter had been sitting there. It was incredible, but it seemed as if someone was indeed using Peter's computer as some kind of radio. He didn't even have a microphone hooked up to his computer, but apparently, he'd been heard by whoever was on the other end, somehow using his computer to both hear Peter Parker, and respond to him.

For a moment, Peter was convinced that there must have been some kind of listening device hidden somewhere in the room, so he started looking around for it, but after five minutes of searching with his impressive speed, nothing was turning up, and Peter found himself looking back at the screen again in puzzlement. The old e-mail seemed to have closed, and had been replaced with another. In the message box were the words "What are you looking for?"

"I'm just trying to figure out how you can hear what I'm saying." Peter replied. The reply was half intended as a joke, but the response was swift; too swift to have been typed by human hands. The second e-mail closed itself in only a moment, and a third opened, bearing a longer message.

"To someone as intelligent as yourself, I'm certain that I could explain the reason behind that. However, it would consume quite a bit of time for both of us, and you don't really need to understand it all. To simplify it, I have senses that your species has never encountered before, or given names to."

"So you're saying you're not human." Peter said, grinning a little in spite of his worries. The whole situation seemed a bit silly. After all, getting an e-mail from an alien wasn't something that happened every day. Even as a member of the Avengers, Peter didn't think he'd ever met an alien before. The concept was both an amusing and enticing one.

The e-mail reply to that was distressingly quick and short, however.

"No. I'm not."

"In that case, what are you?" Peter asked, and again, the reply appeared in moments, though it was longer than most of the others had been.

"I'm afraid explaining that would be very hard. You probably wouldn't understand, even if I told you, and it would waste lots of time for both of us. For the moment, I'll just tell you the important facts. I'm not a native of the planet Earth, or indeed, of the solar system. I'm in the unenviable position of judging the planet Earth to determine if I can justify protecting it."

That worried Peter when he read it. Whatever was happening to his computer, it was more than just a virus or a hacker, and he doubted that it was a trick. If he was really being contacted by an alien intelligence, and there was a lot of evidence to suggest that he was, then things could get very serious in a hurry.

"So..." Peter said, trying to sound casual, as he attempted to calm himself down, "Just out of morbid curiosity, let's say you decide that the Earth isn't worth keeping around. What then?"

"This is no idle judgment, I'm afraid." was the reply, "If my evaluation is that the Earth doesn't merit my protection, then I fear that your world is doomed."

Peter swallowed hard when he read those words. It was definitely the worst possible reply. The whole planet? Doomed?

"How could that happen?"

"You wouldn't understand the process involved." was the reply, "It hinges upon many scientific laws that you, as a people, aren't ready to accept."

"So what now?" Peter asked, "What do I do?"

"Unfortunately," the reply came, "Your first task is finished, and you've failed. Of the one hundred people I sent my message to, only seven bothered to reply, and only two of those seemed to have taken me seriously. Your planet failed the first test miserably, and now, it's failed the second. All that remains is the third test."

"What's the third test?" Peter asked, worried by what the alien was saying.

"I'll come to Earth myself, and observe life on your planet. If I find the species on Earth to be well-developed, in spite of how poorly you and your records have represented them, I may decide that the Earth deserves my protection. However, if not... If I find that the data I've seen is a good reflection of mankind, then my decision could very easily turn against Earth."

"Why are you doing this?" Peter asked directly, and with deliberate boldness, "Why would you go around judging other people's planets?"

"If I didn't," was the reply, "Your planet would most definitely be doomed. There's a danger headed in the direction of planet Earth that has providence over your entire galaxy. I can't change that fact, though I may be able to help defend you from it, if it's a risk that's worth taking. I wish I could convince you somehow of just what kind of position you're in. I'm sure your people have lived on Earth for many thousands of years, and when people have lived on a planet for that long, it's easy to suppose that they're in some way entitled to it. However, I can assure you that planets aren't the property of the species that dwell on them. They and their energy belong to the one responsible for them, and in time, they'll need to return to the cosmic source from which they were made. No planet can live forever. Some have to die. I don't have the power to prevent that, and due to the position that I'm in, I need to decide which planets live, and which die. If I believe that your people haven't misused the planet you've been given; if I think that you've worked hard to earn your place in the universe, I'll probably do what I can to defend you. However, if I believe that the majority of your people are abusing the fruits of the Earth; if I believe that they're acting as parasites to the world, and to one another, then I might not be able to justify assisting you. Good bye."

Then Peter's e-mail closed itself, and in only a minute longer, his computer had turned itself off as well. Peter Parker had definitely witnessed the whole affair with his own eyes, and he wasn't pleased to admit that it had probably been genuine. It seemed likely that a real alien had just been telling him the truth, in which case, the whole human race was in an awful lot of trouble. Depending on where the alien tried to land, it was possible that the people nearby would make some attempt to kill him, and if they didn't, their behavior would probably upset him almost as much.

Peter Parker wasn't feeling particularly safe when he fell asleep that night.

* * *

The next day at school, Peter was feeling pretty tired, although at least he wasn't as scatterbrained as he'd been the previous day. His exhaustion was probably due to how late he'd gotten to bed the night before, but that lateness had been necessary. He'd needed the fun. It was one of those instances where Peter wished he could use his enhanced speed to limit the time he needed to sleep. Still, he probably should have been grateful for the powers he had. He never would have been able to accomplish so much in a day without his special abilities.

During his first class of the day, Peter spent most of his time looking out the window at the sky. He still had worries, but they seemed far-away as he sat there in school, and he didn't feel the need to think about them when he wasn't faced with something innately upsetting or dangerous. It was another revelation for Peter. If you have a problem you can't solve by worrying about it, then why worry?

However, as Peter daydreamed, he hadn't noticed that a slip of paper had taken up residence on his desk. Silently, he unfolded it, and saw that it was a note from Mary Jane.

"Nice job partying, tiger." the note read. Obviously, MJ had noticed the difference in Peter's expression. Where once he'd been chaotic and nervous, suddenly he was calm and relaxed. It was an observation that didn't demand a reply, but it made Peter feel a little better, to think that someone had noticed his emotional progress.

* * *

Just before lunch, however, Mary Jane met Peter right outside of the cafeteria, and she looked very eager to talk with him. There was an expression of deep curiosity in her eyes, that made Peter feel hopeful. In spite of all that Peter had had going on in his life, Mary Jane was starting to notice him, and even care about him. He had to wonder, for a moment, if that was what love was really all about; caring about someone you knew, and hoping that they cared about you in return.

"So spill the beans." Mary Jane said, as she followed Peter into the cafeteria, "I mean, seriously. You're totally different today. What did you do last night that made the big difference?"

Peter looked at Mary Jane, then at the floor, then at Mary Jane again. He wasn't sure what, if anything to say. Part of him wanted to keep secrets from her, while another part of him suspected that she might already know all there was to know about Mister Peter Parker.

"Wow." Peter said at last, chuckling a little as he looked away, "How'd you ever get to know so much about me?"

"I just had to figure out your secret."

The moment Peter heard that, he could feel the blood starting to drain from his face. Had Mary Jane found out that he was Spider-man? What would she do with that knowledge? What would happen once people realized she knew? After all the effort it had taken to get him to calm down, Peter was discouraged to find himself getting nervous again so quickly.

"My... My secret?" Peter asked, hoping that she hadn't figured it all out, and worrying about what would happen if it turned out that she had.

"You know what I mean." Mary Jane replied, "The reason you're so busy; even after school. Some guys brag about how great they are all the time, but they're nothing like you."

"Well..." Peter muttered. Mary Jane's words either heralded something very good, or very bad.

"There are guys who say they try to care about everyone in their life as much as they care about themselves, but they really don't..." Mary Jane continued, "But you're different, Peter. You really care about people like that. Every single person in your life, you care about just as if they were you. That's why you're always so busy, and so worried. Once I figured out your secret, I knew you just needed to be reminded to take care of yourself too."

"Yeah..." Peter muttered, the relief taking a few seconds to sink in, "Yeah. That secret. You wanna have lunch or something?"

"So we can talk about what you did last night?" Mary Jane asked, looking hopeful.

"I can tell you right now." Peter replied with a big smile, "I took your advice. I basically just went out and had a good time. Nothing too special; it's just that I haven't had the chance to just relax and have fun recently, so it really helped."

For some reason, when Peter said that, it seemed to bring Mary Jane down a little. Maybe she'd been looking for something more specific; some kind of juicy details she could share with her friends, and Peter wished he could have given her some, but he knew that both of them would be better off if she knew nothing about his life as Spider-man. She seemed a little disappointed, but it was better than being injured, kidnapped, or killed, which almost certainly would have happened if Peter's real identity got out.

"Well, it's just that I haven't got much interesting stuff going on in my life right now." Mary Jane clarified with a shrug, "I wish I had something to talk about, but I really don't, and if you haven't got anything to talk about either, then we're gonna be pretty bored at lunch..."

"I'm not gonna be bored." Peter said, although he could see that it hadn't helped the situation. Mary Jane looked, if anything, a little sarcastic.

"Yeah. I'll bet." she replied with a half-sincere grin, "Maybe later, when you've done something you think is worth talking about."

Just like that, what could have been an awesome moment with Mary Jane had shattered into a massive disappointment for Peter, but Mary Jane was right about one thing; it wasn't helping their chances at a relationship if he couldn't really talk to her about the things that were going on in his life. For a moment, he considered giving up on being Spider-man, but he knew that he could never do that; not as long as he remembered the pain, and the lessons of Uncle Ben's death.

There was another problem, however. It wasn't just that Peter wanted Mary Jane's support. He needed somebody that he could talk to about his life as Spider-man; preferably a woman who he could count on to be there and listen to him, even when he was feeling down. The problem was, there was no woman in the whole world who knew that Peter Parker and Spider-man were one and the same, which meant that if he wanted to talk about his life as Spider-man, he needed to talk to a woman as Spider-man, and he could only think of one place where that kind of social atmosphere was possible.

* * *

Harry had recovered from his illness, which seemed to have just been a basic kind of stomach bug, so his tutoring session that night had gone ahead as scheduled, but it had only lasted about an hour and a half, at which point, Peter knew that he'd be expected back home in time for supper. The problem was, he couldn't go back just then. He really had to talk to somebody, and the building where he might be able to discuss Spider-man-related subjects was only about a ten-minute web-swing from the Osborne mansion. When Spider-man arrived at the Avengers mansion, however, there wasn't much to see. Apparently, there weren't any global emergencies to tend to, because there wasn't a single Avenger in the front hall, or the meeting room. Of course, Spider-man knew that somebody would at least be in the monitor room, watching the reports coming in from all over the world, to make certain that no big emergencies arose without being noticed, but the people who did monitor duty tended not to listen very well to people's problems because, apparently, it was too hard to watch a monitor, and also talk with someone. Peter liked to think that he wouldn't have had as much trouble with the task, but he'd never done monitor duty before. In general, he was more of an Avenger-on-call than someone who had enough time on his hands to man the monitors, and he wasn't the only Avenger whose personal life got in the way a lot. Iron Man, She-Hulk, Namor, the Mole Man, the Human Torch, and Black Bolt all had life obligations that tended to keep them from certain kinds of work at certain times, and Daredevil wasn't around enough to be useful in that capacity. In general, the other members of the team seemed to have taken it well, accepting the fact that each Avenger had to try to serve as best they could.

However, as Spider-man pressed on through the mansion, and towards the monitor room, he met another Avenger in the hallway. It was Hawkeye, and he was looking a little distracted.

"Hey, Hawkeye." Spider-man said in the most cheerful voice he could manage, "Good to see you. Who's on monitor duty?"

"Well," Hawkeye replied, looking a little sheepish, "Widow and I sort of are, but I just couldn't stand it any more."

"Yeah..." Spider-man remarked, "What's up between you two, anyway?"

Spider-man had intended for the question to sound friendly, but Hawkeye just looked very reserved and uncomfortable when he was asked that.

"I don't really want to talk about it." Hawkeye replied, looking away for a moment.

"No problem." Spider-man said quickly, still trying his best to be friendly, "The thing is, Widow isn't exactly the best conversationalist, and I'd really like to chat about something. Is there anybody else here?"

"No..." Hawkeye said, starting to look just a little irritated, "Just me and her."

Spider-man sighed a little, but it was obvious that Hawkeye was sick of talking, so it was Widow or nothing.

"Well, okay." Spider-man replied, "I'll see you in a little bit, then."

"Yeah... Yeah." Hawkeye replied, looking even more distracted, as Spider-man headed for the door of the monitor room, and stepped inside.

* * *

The monitor room wasn't very big; no more than four yards in any direction, and computer screens and interface terminals dominated most of the walls. Spider-man had never even been in that room before, but suddenly, he could see why more than one person would be assigned to monitor duty at a time, and why it would be so difficult to concentrate on anything else in the meantime.

In the midst of all of that technology sat Widow in a small, comfortable-looking chair. She continued to wear the same serious expression as always, but her eyes darted back and forth across the monitors as she sat there. Things seemed quiet, for the most part, but she was still alert, just in case that changed. Her head, however, didn't move; just her eyes. Her short, red hair had swayed a bit in the gust of wind that had entered the room when Spider-man had opened the door, but soon, it was perfectly still again, to match her unmoving face.

"Hey Widow." Spider-man remarked, hoping that she wouldn't snap at him.

"Hello Spider-man." she said, still not moving her head, or turning to face him even in the slightest.

"So... uh..." Spider-man muttered, "Busy night, huh?"

"Not really." Widow replied, though she still didn't move, or make any sign of initiating conversation with the web-slinger.

That was when Spidey made his decision. Enough was enough. He was going to discuss things with Widow, and he didn't care whether she liked it or not.

"Listen, I need to chat with someone, and you seem like the only person around who might be willing to talk."

"What you're really saying is that you can't talk to your friends about this because you don't think you can trust them to keep your secret identity a secret." Widow replied immediately.

Spider-man had been about to say something, but when Widow had said that, his reply changed.

"It was that obvious, huh?"

"Not to everyone." Widow replied in the same stiff tone of voice as before, "But gathering intelligence and information has always been a specialty of mine. I knew the reason why you came here ever since the moment you stepped through that door."

"Well, the thing is..." Spider-man said, hoping that confiding in Widow wouldn't put him in an even worse position, "I guess I've been having a tough time relaxing and focusing on things, but then last night, I went out, and..."

"You stopped a convenience store robbery and recovered the money for the cashier." Widow replied, "I heard about that."

"It was on the news, huh?" Spider-man asked, smiling underneath his mask, but the smile was destined to be short-lived.

"Barely." Widow replied, "The story was suppressed by most of the major news networks, due to the fact that the robber; Steven Doucette, was a member of a minority group that the media's been protecting. Fortunately, though, I get my information from more than one source. News about the foiled robbery was all over the internet seconds after it happened."

"Huh?" Spider-man asked, suddenly confused by Widow's words, "I don't get it. Why would the news networks do that? I mean, aren't they supposed to be reporting stuff that happens?"

"About six months ago, there was major civil unrest and violence in California, and that story was suppressed for the same reasons, even though Hawkeye was involved in ending the riots over there." Widow replied, still with very little sign of emotion, "The fact is, big news, big crimes, and even superheros make no difference in whether or not a story is reported by news agencies. All that matters to them is whether the story itself makes their preferred cause or belief look good. It's not libel, because they're not making up stories. All they do is sit on stories that they think will make things worse for them and their cause."

"Isn't that a little cynical?" Spider-man asked, "I mean, you're saying these people are letting somebody get away with robbery, just because they belong to a group that you're trying to be nice to."

"No." Widow replied, still not moving, "It's not cynicism. It's just the facts of the matter. People can justify any level of corruption if they think it will support their cause; especially now, when parties and groups are more divided from each other than ever. It's... Well, it's socio-political tension, and it results in a lot of the crises that we've needed to stop as Avengers. Some groups of people have a preferred way of life, while others don't know what way of life they want, only that they're dissatisfied with the one they have. Those groups come into conflict with each other, and it creates ripples of corruption in the system."

"I'm surprised you've never tried to do anything about that yourself." Spider-man said, "Corruption, I mean."

It was only then that Widow stopped looking at the monitors, and turned to face Spider-man with a curious smirk on her face. It was the closest thing to a smile that Spider-man had ever seen on Widow, and it creeped him out more than a little.

"I think you've underestimated me, Peter." Widow said with that smirk of hers, "Even before I joined the Avengers, I..."

"Wait... What?" Spider-man asked, his whole body tensing up, as Widow spoke.

"Don't worry." Widow replied, "No one else can hear us in this room."

For a moment, Spider-man thought about trying to deny that he was, in fact, Peter Parker, but that might have been perceived as an insult to Widow's intelligence, and that was one of the last things he wanted to risk doing. He was feeling more nervous than ever when he spoke again.

"Nobody else can find out." Spider-man said, hoping that he sounded sufficiently grave, but Widow didn't look intimidated. In fact, it seemed like she'd gone back to relaxing.

"I'm not your enemy, Spider-man. I'm your ally. Still, I managed to find out, and I'm pretty sure that others could as well. In fact, others may know already."

"I just need to know they won't find out from you." Spider-man said, to which Widow replied with a brief nod.

"As I was saying," Widow continued, unperturbed, "even before I joined the Avengers, I'd resolved twenty-three problems, which involved corruption. Usually, the answer was blackmail. It's a crude method, but it works wonders on the corrupt, who only reach that point because they're being selfish. All you have to do is convince them that it's in their best interests to do their jobs properly, and they shape up quickly enough."

"I don't know." Spider-man replied, his nervousness fading gradually, "I don't think I'd be able to do things that way,"

"Are you saying that you don't care what kinds of laws you enforce, or what kinds of people you protect?" Widow asked, "I still have no intention of betraying you, but I can't say that makes me feel safe. With all the power that you have, ambivalence is something that you can't afford. You either need to pick a side, or make one of your own, Spider-man."

"What did you do?" Spider-man asked, after hesitating for only a few seconds.

"I joined the Avengers, and they've never tried to stop me from acting against corruption. In fact, the Avengers make no secret of the fact that they advocate fairness in all things. Since the Avengers were first formed, people are just as divided as always, but at least now, they recognize that they still have moral obligations. They can't cheat others, or lie to others, and expect it to go unopposed. Visible corruption in America has dropped by thirty-seven percent since the Avengers came into being. I doubt that's a coincidence. It's the first significant drop in corruption that America has seen since the start of the second world war."

"When you put it that way, it seems like we really do make a difference." Spider-man realized aloud, "I guess I was a little worried that I was ignoring the people in my life whenever I put on this mask, you know?"

"One person's life is a small picture." Widow replied, "It's an important picture, but it's still a small one. There are other things at stake; other factors to consider."

It was probably the first thing that Widow had said that had made Spider-man feel any better. He'd felt a little guilty recently, because he knew that the only thing in his life that really calmed him down was being Spider-man, and helping people he didn't even know, and he'd been sort of worried that those feelings meant that he cared more about strangers than about the people in his own life. It was refreshing to have heard a different perspective on the subject; one that sounded accurate enough.

"I'm convinced that most people want to help improve the big picture." Widow said, as Spider-man was continuing to reason away his worries a little, "They just don't bother trying, because it's too much work, or they don't think it's possible to succeed. They see the opposition, and give up. You and I can't do that. We have too much power. We can't deny the kind of difference we're able to make in the lives of others, and in the global fate of mankind."

Those words, however, had seized Spider-man's feelings of relief by the neck, and thrown them into a deep, dark pit, where he couldn't reach them, because there was one other thing that he had to bring up with Widow. She'd probably just think he was being silly, but it had to be said.

"Widow, these last couple nights, I've been getting some weird e-mails with the 'from' field totally blank. Have you heard about anything like that?"

Widow shook her head briefly in reply, so Spider-man started reciting what he remembered of the e-mails, and what they'd said. At last, when he finished his story, Widow seemed to be deep in thought.

"This isn't some kind of joke, is it?" she asked.

"Not unless the joke's on me." Spider-man replied, "I'm telling you the truth."

"In that case, I'd take it seriously." Widow said with a stern look on her face, "From the descriptions you just gave me, whoever sent you those e-mails has technology beyond even the kind the Avengers have access to. That means there are four possibilities. Either it was done by Doom, or by Doctor Richards, or else it really was an alien contacting you."

"Uh..." Spider-man replied a little hesitantly, "That's only three possibilities."

Widow sighed a little when Spider-man said that, but she spoke up again in just another moment, looking not at all eager to do so.

"I didn't want to bring up the fourth possibility, because I thought that you might find it insulting, Spider-man," Widow said, "but here it is; it's possible that something in your mind is... broken, or being manipulated in some way. It might be simple madness, or it might be that someone is projecting illusions over you. We both know of at least one person capable of that, so we shouldn't discount the possibility, but if you saw these things in your other identity, then I doubt that anyone's trying to trick you like that."

"I guess I just didn't expect you to really believe me." Spider-man replied with a shrug, "I mean, it's kind of a crazy story."

"No one can learn the truth unless their minds are open to it." Widow said, "I'd like to think that I'm sufficiently open-minded to accept the existence of aliens. If aliens ever did come to Earth and threaten us, we'd be almost certain to lose if no one took them seriously."

"Well, yeah..." Spider-man replied slowly, "I guess that's true. Now the only question is what to do about it. I mean, we just spent a while talking about corruption. I can't exactly tell you it's just a myth, and I can't tell an alien that either. If the alien shows up and gets mad that people are still corrupt, what do you think it'll do?"

"I think," Widow said quickly "that we should do our best to convince this alien to join our cause, but if it won't; if it's convinced that destroying mankind is the only course of action it can take, then the Avengers will have to oppose it."

Widow's answer was really something of a no-brainer, but Spider-man was glad to have received it, for what it was worth.

"What if it doesn't make its choice right away?" Spider-man asked, "What if we run into it before anyone else does?"

"In that case, our job is to be as diplomatic and peaceful towards this alien as possible, until the very moment that it decides to work against us." Widow replied, "We still don't know how advanced this alien's technology is, and it would be a mistake to assume that we can overcome it by force."

"Yeah." Spider-man replied, starting to feel worse than ever, "I figured you were gonna say that. Well, I'd better get back home. My aunt'll probably be worried sick about me."

"Good night." Widow replied, still looking at the screens in front of her as Spider-man opened the monitor room door, and left.

* * *

Aunt May had definitely been worried about Peter when he'd gotten home, but she hadn't thrown a huge fuss over his tardiness; probably because there were more bills to be paid, and she still needed his help. That cheered Peter up a little, because it reminded him that his aunt still had some sense of priorities in her life. It was too easy for some people to lose track of their priorities when they were worried or angry. In fact, it was something that Peter himself had done only recently, and it might be something he struggled with for the rest of his life. However, when he drifted off to sleep that night, he was really only worried about one thing. He wished that it could have been Mary Jane Watson that he'd confided in, rather than Widow. Though they were both Avengers of equal status, Peter felt a bit of emotional inferiority when he was around Widow, and that feeling had grown even greater since he'd realized that she knew his secret identity. He didn't, however, feel so badly dwarfed around Mary Jane. It wasn't that he felt superior to her, but rather, she made him feel comfortable. Widow was different. To her, everything was outlined in what was business, and what wasn't. Peter couldn't help but feel a little alienated by that kind of mentality.

However, at around three forty-seven in the morning, Peter's computer turned on by itself. It was a surprise; and it immediately woke Peter from his sleep. At once, he jumped out of bed, and saw a new e-mail; opening itself on the screen.

"I am here."

"Where?" Peter asked, a little confused by the alien's words. However, in a moment, he received another, much larger surprise. The ceiling of his room seemed to be rippling, as if it were made of water, rather than plaster. In seconds, something started to descend through that plaster. It was small at first; no bigger than a marble, but then it increased in size, becoming a curved spike, like a shark fin the size of a drinking glass. Then, a much larger shape appeared, stretching out from the fin; six feet long and silver-colored, although it seemed to glow as well. It was long and thin, like a massive tongue-depressor, or... or a surfboard. Peter was captivated, as the silver object descended through the ceiling, followed immediately by a pair of silver feet, then lower legs, upper legs, a waist, torso, hands, arms, shoulders... At last, the head of the alien being had descended through the ceiling all the way, and the rippling in the plaster stopped. It was only then that Peter was really able to take the figure in.

The figure was roughly humanoid-looking; about average height, and coated completely in some silver-colored substance, yet it seemed to have no difficulty seeing, hearing, or sensing anything around it, or for that matter, moving. It stood straight up, on what looked like a type of silver-coated surfboard, and its eyes were fixed firmly on Peter. Peter swallowed hard, but as the being finished its descent through the ceiling, the minor glow that had surrounded it began to grow brighter and brighter, until its silver skin seemed to be radiating intense light. Then, in a voice that sounded almost human, the silver surfer spoke to Peter Parker, and his speech echoed slightly as he did so.

"Here." the surfer said, from the midst of the beacon of light that shone from his body, and that was when Peter Parker started to feel that he might be in a little over his head.

* * *

To be continued...


	24. Issue 24: The Emissary

Tales From the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 24

"The Emissary"

* * *

The bald man carefully watched those around him as he sat at the north-easternmost library table, pretending to read. Books were lovely and enjoyable things, but he'd learned the contents of most of them already. More than once, the bald man could see that a person had noticed him watching them, and shuddered a little. People in that section of the world didn't feel comfortable being watched, although the bald man could hardly help that. It was, after all, what he did.

It had been a while since the bald man had held a meeting with any of the other beings that he considered peers. He didn't typically compare notes with others, because he'd always viewed observation as being the best way to gather information. In fact, he never interfered in the natural development of other races, or other species. To do so would corrupt the results of his observations, and make all of his findings meaningless. The bald man wasn't truly a human being, but he was a true scientist.

There were only a few beings who the bald man felt that he could interact with, and not upset his own delicate research, and one of them was approaching him from the other side of the library. He was a man with thick, white hair and a mustache, and like the bald man, he was a scientist obsessed with reliable results, and gathering information. He also wasn't truly a human being, though that was the form he took while doing research on Earth. Unlike the bald man, however, the man in the mustache had no reservations about performing active tests on other life-forms. He was an experimental scientist, not merely an observational one.

In the past, the bald man and the stranger in the mustache had managed to gather different kinds of information. Each had a great deal of knowledge about biology, botany, physics, technology, and so forth, but the real prizes had been in behavioral studies of other species. The stranger had a lot of information about the human desire to protect and fight; how people react in desperation, and the bald man had a lot of information about the peaceful tendencies to nurture and support, and the way that people grow in vanity, mistrust and corruption when the challenges are removed from their lives. Each had information that the other lacked about the nature of the soul. Regardless, they rarely compared notes; only when their two fields of interest crossed paths. They only really met to talk about pressure and desperation being visited upon more peaceful times.

"So you felt it too?" the bald man asked, as soon as the stranger sat down.

"I detected it. Yes." the stranger replied, "The Emissary is here; on Earth."

"This bodes poorly for the humans." the bald man said, "I had hoped that Von Doom, and a few of the others would have been able to resolve their differences by this point. Even if they all work together, their chances for survival are slim, without some organizing factor. They need a brilliant intelligence to unite them all. I fear there's very little chance of that happening now. This may well be the end of the planet Earth."

"You still see the humans as a mere topic of interest;" the stranger replied, "a mere subject of stud, that it would be a shame to lose. I'm still convinced that the humans are belligerent and dangerous, and the last two years have only convinced me even more of the danger they pose. The humans have tapped into the power cosmic more than once already, and grown far more powerful than they should be for their level of development. Not only that, but the allies they've made among other peoples have only made them even more dangerous. Surely, the damage they're capable of doing isn't something that you can ignore."

"I'm not ignoring the damage they're capable of," the bald man replied, "but you must understand that the human species is capable of more than just damage. You and I could cause much damage, if we chose. Have we done so?"

"We are beings of a higher order." the stranger replied, but the bald man just shook his head sadly.

"Have you ever seen the ancient one with your own eyes?" the bald man asked simply, causing the stranger to flush slightly, in something close to embarrassment.

"I need not have seen him to know that I am different from a mere human." the stranger said derisively, although the bald man's expression didn't change.

"Our differences from the ancient one are just as great." the bald man replied, smiling mischievously, "Do not misjudge your place in the universe. You and I are only scientists."

"You need not struggle to humble me." the stranger replied, "I know my role, and I know the role of the ancient one. Just because I'm willing to interact with my test subjects, don't assume that I'm overstepping my authority. When I say that we're a higher order of being than the humans, I'm only stating a fact."

"Is that your final analysis?" the bald man asked, still smiling, "Certainly, our powers are greater, and our knowledge more extensive, but are we truly so much wiser or more advanced than the humans? Are we truly masters of ourselves any more than they are? Do we understand our feelings, or our passions any more than the humans do?"

"Yes." the stranger replied indignantly, "We understand the importance of searching for that knowledge. The humans lack the maturity needed to engage in such a search."

"Some do..." the bald man admitted, "but the ancient one is different, is he not? Unlike the humans, who live oblivious to their own needs in life, and unlike we, who seek to understand ourselves, for the ancient one, there is no mystery; no doubt. He knows his place in the universe and has made peace with it. I can't claim to have made that journey, as he has, so I must view myself as a lesser being."

"I repeat myself..." the stranger said again, after only a moment, "The humans are a dangerous, cowardly bunch. If the ancient one destroys them all, he'll have done me no injustice."

"In that case, I have one last thing to say." the bald man replied, "I'll take no action against the ancient one on mankind's behalf, because to do so would be to go against everything that I believe in. However, if you choose to oppose the humans, or try to use your powers to facilitate their destruction, I will break my oath, in order to stop you."

In just another moment, both of those old, powerful beings vanished from the library, though the tension that had been building between them still hung in the air.

* * *

"Beep-boop. Beep-boop. Beep-boop."

Slowly, Doctor Reed Richards opened his eyes, as he listened to the rhythmic sound of the machines around him. He'd stayed up very late the night before, tracking energy fluctuations in the Earth's atmosphere, and had fallen asleep at the work desk in the middle of his lab, which had been positioned right next to the large, white board that Reed sometimes used for scribbling theoretical equations and diagrams on, when he was trying to work out a particularly tough scientific problem. When he woke up at almost ten thirty at night, he nearly fell out of his lab chair in disorientation, but recovered after only a few seconds, and regained his balance only a second after that, by bracing one hand against the floor. It was only then that Reed started thinking clearly enough to realize that the beeping that had woken him hadn't been audible when he'd fallen asleep. In fact, only one machine in his lab made a sound quite like that.

At once, Reed Richards rushed to his feet, and hurried over to the terragen beacon he'd designed Sure enough, a small, red light on one side of the beacon was shining brightly, as the sounds continued. Reed smiled eagerly at that moment. After months and months, there was finally a chance to to change his friend's appearance back to normal.

Once Reed had realized that the terragen mists were actually made from the same kind of energy that had once powered the alien devices that had turned Reed and his friends into the Fantastic Four, he'd known what to look for. With the alien machine in his possession, Reed had been convinced that he could unlock its secrets just by finding some way to reactivate it. The hard part of that plan was that no power source on Earth had been compatible with the machine. Reed's search for compatible power sources had led to his encounter with the inhumans, and eventually, to create the terragen beacon; a device intended specifically to detect the energy-type that the terragen mists were composed of. If he could just find and harness that kind of energy, Reed knew, there was a chance to cure Ben, and perhaps to discover even more about the strange, alien technology that had landed on Earth two years back. That could lead to incalculable advances in the scientific community. There were lots of things that Reed didn't know about the strange technology, but it was capable of changing the DNA of life-forms, and traveling faster than light. If he could find some way to reverse-engineer it, the possibilities might very well be limitless.

However, once Reed had built the terragen beacon, and turned it on, he hadn't been certain what else, if anything, to do. The beacon's job was to continue scanning the solar system for signs of terragen power until it found something, then display information about its findings. After the first twenty-four hours, however, it had become obvious that the only source of terragen power in the solar system belonged to the inhumans, and it was definitely off-limits. Once he realized that, Reed had devoted a lot of his time to trying to create a synthetic terragen substitute for the alien machine to use. He'd known that it was probably going to wind up being a fruitless attempt, but it was something to do, and it sort of made him feel like he was accomplishing something. For months, Reed's ill-fated attempts to duplicate the alien power source had dominated much of his free time, although he'd also managed to reserve some time for social activities with his friends. Reed's circle of friends basically amounted to Sue, Ben, Johnny, and a few of the more socially-minded Avengers, but no matter how few friends a person has, friendships require effort. Reed had never been much of a social creature, but he'd gradually gotten used to the idea of socializing over time, and he was happy to find that Ben didn't feel slighted by his recent social activities. After all, Ben knew that Reed was still doing all he could to find a cure for his extremely strange condition. There was no point in harping on it anymore. In a sense, Ben had almost gotten used to his abnormal appearance.

Of course, Reed still had every intention of finding some way to help Ben return to normal. In fact, he viewed it as his most important job, but it wasn't all that he did. As he'd continued making attempt after failed attempt, his relationship with Sue had definitely improved. Their first date and been pretty strange, since it had been interrupted by a crime; perpetrated by the Sandman and the Vulture, but once Reed and Sue had dealt with that problem, they had to admit that it had brought them closer than any night on the town could have. Helping people was a big responsibility to undertake as members of the Fantastic Four, but Reed had to admit that when he watched Sue in action; using her powers to down the Vulture with almost-embarrassing ease, it made him feel pretty good about her, and about himself. The way that Sue had made a whole section of a building invisible, fooling the Vulture into a collision with it had been a stroke of brilliance, and most of the inhabitants of the restaurant had been rooting for them when Reed had finally cornered the Sandman, forcing him to retreat down a storm drain. It had hardly been a normal date, but it had been delightful in its own way. Reed had seen Sue's cleverness, cunning, and proactive nature on that day, and she did it all for the people of the city. The armored car that the Sandman had been trying to rob, and the policemen inside had been extremely grateful for their help, and Reed could tell that Sue felt a lot better, having helped them.

It had been those things about Sue Storm that had drawn Reed in, in the end; her love of both protecting and nurturing, and her proactive determination and great capability. Reed knew that he could depend on her, and he knew that if she ever got married some day, she'd be the best possible mother, but more to the point, Reed found Sue's cleverness and determination to be even more attractive than her appearance, and it seemed like she felt the same way about him. There was no point in trying to deny it; Reed was in love.

Reed had been somewhat afraid of falling in love for quite some time. He'd been worried that he'd be weakened by it somehow; that he'd get lost in his feelings and lose track of his experiments, but what he was starting to discover was that far from being weakened, he was finding a brand new kind of energy with which to pursue his research. His relationship with Sue Storm hadn't hurt him at all, and when Reed realized that, he knew that she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Reed had noticed his work getting easier as time had passed after that. With each new week that passed, and each new outing the two of them went on together, Reed's own inspiration and drive kept increasing. At last, just a few nights before, Reed had noticed a fresh development of just the sort that he'd been waiting for. The terragen beacon had discovered numerous energy fluctuations all over the world, which had carried a faint trace of terragen energy. It wasn't much to go on, but it was still a step forward. Not a lot of energy had been used, of course. It couldn't possibly have accomplished much. Maybe, Reed thought, it was a simple communication of some kind, or maybe the aliens who'd created the machines were scanning planet Earth in search of them. Either possibility was a little worrying.

However, on the following night, the same thing happened again, except that the terragen energy signature lasted several minutes, and was almost six times stronger. Reed wasn't sure what that energy had been intended to do, but it had been directed at all the same spots as the first energy fluctuations, which ruled out the possibility of a scan. If the aliens were trying to scan the planet, they would have scanned more than just a few dozen spots, and they would have used their scanning technology on new spots, when they couldn't find what they were looking for, instead of targeting the same places again. There was only one explanation for the behavior of the aliens. They were trying to communicate with several places on planet Earth.

The moment that conclusion had entered Reed's thoughts, he'd pulled up a global map on his computer, and started pinpointing the different spots where the communication beams had hit. Only a few minutes into that project, however, Reed swallowed hard. One of the places that had been targeted was Castle Doom in Latveria.

Reed only took a few seconds to think about that. Maybe Doom had drawn the alien's attention somehow, but even once he had a list of names in front of him, Reed couldn't see the connection between them. All of them had been right at the center of those invisible energy fluctuations. What, he wondered, was the link between them?

Reed had attempted to trace the path of the terragen energy, but his scanning beacon only told him what he'd suspected at first; that the energy source was somewhere outside of Earth's solar system. Reed was intensely frustrated by that. With all the scientific advances he'd made over the past two years, the vast distance of open space was just as impenetrable a barrier as ever. Reed had discovered new types of synthetic energy, new energy conversion methods, new means of propulsion and more, but even if he'd used all of that technology to build the best and fastest rocket that mankind had ever produced, it would still have taken ten thousand years to reach the star closest to Earth's sun. The speed barriers separating Reed from interstellar travel were as frustrating as ever, and there was no way that he could track something outside of Earth's solar system.

However, just then, as Reed had been woken by the sound of his machine, the readout he'd called up had given him the biggest news ever. There was an enormous, concentrated fluctuation of energy right in New York, and it wasn't diminishing. It was as if the very source of the terragen energy had descended to Earth; perhaps some kind of powerful reactor, or even a life-form of immense power. There were numerous possibilities. Of course, it was possible that the alien was a great danger to the human race, but regardless, it was the chance that Reed had been waiting for; the opportunity to learn the secrets of the universe.

For a moment, Reed cursed himself for not having hired someone who could monitor the machines in his absence. None of his friends would have been able to understand the readouts unless he built a completely new interface for the device. Regardless, he wanted to track down that alien, and he wasn't about to stay home and monitor the equipment, even if it meant that the alien got away while he wasn't looking, and he lost track of it.

"Sue! Ben!" Reed exclaimed as he burst into the main entertainment room of the Baxter Building, which the Fantastic Four were using as their base of operations, "Fantastic news! Incredible news!"

As Reed rushed into the room, Ben was seated on the couch, watching television, and Sue was in an adjacent room, making a telephone call, however the moment that Reed made his announcement, Sue said "I'll call you back" into the phone and hung up, and Ben turned off the television with the remote, turning to face Reed in expectation and anticipation.

"Don't tell me..." Ben said with a smile on his face, "It's the energy, ain't it?"

"That's right." Reed replied with an even wider smile, "It seems like it might be the source of the terragen energy, Ben. It's here on Earth."

"Alright!" Ben exclaimed, great enthusiasm building in him, as he got to his feet and headed over to where Reed was still holding the printed readouts, "So what're we waiting for?"

"Nothing." Reed replied, "I know where it is. All we have to do is track it down."

"Well, let's go!" Ben exclaimed as Sue emerged from the other room, having overheard everything that had just been said with some excitement of her own. She knew what it would mean for Ben to be able to look human again. It would be a happy day for her, and for all her friends when Reed finally managed to accomplish that.

* * *

Just a few months ago, Ben would have run for his seat in the fantasticar without pausing for a second, knowing what was at stake, but something within him had grown over that time. For a moment, he paused, just as he was about to step into the fantastic four's short-range vehicle, and looked around.

"Where's the kid?" Ben asked, trying his best to sound irritated, although Reed knew how Ben was really feeling. Ben Grimm wanted Johnny to be there when they made contact, because deep down inside, he cared about his friend. Johnny and Ben bickered a lot, but more as a hobby than because they really disliked each other. In a sense, the two really were friends, and cared deeply about each other, though neither one would have ever admitted it aloud.

"He's all the way across town." Reed replied, letting his expression go blank for a moment, as he explained the bad news, "I sent a message to his beeper, but he might not be able to get back here on time, even if he gets the message immediately."

At that point, however, Reed decided that it might be better to lower his voice for what he was about to say next.

"If we're going to find the energy source, we should probably move out right now, or it might get away. Of course, if you want to wait for Johnny, there's a risk, but..."

"Uh-uh. No way." Ben replied, forcing a smirk, though Reed could tell he felt pretty bad over Johnny's absence, "Just wanted to make sure the little squirt wouldn't get in our way. Let's go."

It was a lie, of course, and everyone on that rooftop knew it, but Reed understood that Ben could never admit to actually caring about the Human Torch; not even to his closest friends. It was one of the ways in which Ben expressed his pride in his masculinity, even though he looked more like a monster than a man. Reed could hardly fault him for clinging to what little pride he still had, when he looked at it a certain way.

As those thoughts filled Reed's head, he, Sue, and Ben turned on the fantasticar, and it rose up into the air, carrying them in the direction of the energy signature.

* * *

"Um..." Peter Parker muttered, as he tried his best to look at the shining figure, standing on its flying surfboard in the middle of his room, "Welcome to Earth. Is there something I can do for you, mister...?"

"Emissary." the silver surfer replied, "You can call me Emissary. It's the closest word your language has for my function. I'd like you to help me understand the civilizations of man, clarifying any points I might not fully comprehend. I only ask this because I know that you're open-minded and trustworthy. I know that you'll listen to my words, where others might not."

Peter was definitely being put on the spot. Suddenly, a being from outer space had arrived in his bedroom and introduced itself, then asked him to show it around. Him; Peter Parker, not Spider-man. Peter was starting to get the distinct impression that as much good as Spider-man had done in his career, Peter Parker's responsibilities were starting to become even greater.

"You want me to show you around?" Peter asked, amazed.

"With your permission, I'd like you to guide me on a tour of your world. I have to ask that you don't try to deceive me. I need your full cooperation, if your planet is going to have any chance for survival."

However, when the Emissary said that, Peter felt a horrible fear rising within him. Once again, the new arrival was making reference to the end of the world; a terrifying prospect for Peter Parker.

"I don't get it." Peter said, "Why are we in danger? What's threatening us?"

"There are things you don't understand," Emissary replied sadly, "and it's not necessary for you to learn them. All you need to know is that you and everything you've ever known are in grave danger, and by assisting me, you may have a chance to avoid the extinction of your species."

For a moment, Peter thought about taking the alien at his word, but there wasn't really any chance of that happening. Peter was afraid, but he was also intensely curious, and he couldn't just assist an alien being, without some kind of explanation.

"That's not good enough." Peter said finally, though he was having some difficulty seeing the Emissary, through the bright light that its body was projecting. "If you want me to help you, I'll need some kind of explanation. We have to be able to deal with each other reasonably, unless there's some kind of pressing time limit I should know about."

For a moment, the Emissary seemed to have stopped to think, and he was clearly feeling a little sad when he replied to Peter.

"For so many years, I've been the messenger of desperation and tragedy." the Emissary said, "I'd almost forgotten what courtesy sounds like. I apologize for hesitating to tell you the truth. I have no desire to keep secrets from you, but I hadn't wished to burden you with thoughts and realities beyond the knowledge of your species. Also, I suppose that I've been trying to avoid getting attached to you, Peter Parker. You're a civilized man, and I respect that."

Peter just nodded, pleased that the Emissary seemed to be changing his mind.

"Since this universe began, a mere thirteen and a half billion years ago," the Emissary explained, "certain rules have governed it; laws that no mortal or immortal can undermine. One of those is the life cycle that governs the universe; the way in which matter and energy are redistributed throughout existence to establish a firmer balance within galaxies and star systems. On a planetary scale, the life cycle exists to allow each new generation of animals and plants to eat and grow, being replenished and sustained from the previous generation. A similar law exists on an interstellar level, in which the energy of old stars and star systems is used to form new ones, once their time has passed. Do you understand all of this?"

To most people, the Emissary's words would have sounded like mere abstractions, but Peter Parker was a science student, and he knew the truth. Animals did indeed eat one another to survive, and the lifespans of stars were definitely limited. Peter just nodded, giving the Emissary the chance to speak again.

"There's another life cycle that you should know about; the life cycle of the universe. When the universe was created, energy was needed, in order to sustain it, so two forces were created in order to balance that energy. The first force was Neriad; a being whose very existence hinges on his ability to draw forth energy and send it out into the universe. The second force is known as Galan; the ancient one, who consumes that energy, once it has served its purpose, returning it to the place from which Neriad draws his power. In order to ensure that Galan fulfilled his function, the creator of the universe gave him a great hunger, that weakens him unless he feeds on vast energies. Unless he performs the duty for which he was created, Galan is consumed by suffering, and in time, might even die. If he ever died, he would be incapable of performing his cosmic function."

It was already becoming obvious that Galan and Neriad were powerful and significant enough, that Peter could barely imagine them, but he was starting to get a general picture of the cosmic cycle that the Emissary was describing.

"So..." Peter said, "Just out of curiosity, let's say one of them didn't do what they were supposed to..."

"If Neriad stopped performing his function, the energy would, in time, be drained from this reality, causing the entire universe to fade away into nothingness." the Emissary explained, "If Galan were to stop what he does, then the energy within the universe would build and build, until the entire universe ruptured, falling apart like an exploding balloon. In either case, all that exists would be lost."

"What if they both stopped at the same time?" Peter asked, though he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Then the energy within the universe would remain static, and start to stabilize into a less-active form within a few thousand years." the Emissary replied, "Stars would blink out, planets would lose their cohesion, and the tension within molecules would cease to exist. In the end, all that would be left of the universe would be a mist-like cloud of ambient energy, floating through the cosmos."

"So both of them have to keep going if they want the universe to keep going." Peter concluded a little despondently.

"Yes." the Emissary replied, "The two of them are like the breath of the universe itself; Neriad breathing in, and Galan breathing out. They aren't the only beings to bare such a monumental and essential task, but they need to continue as they have for ages, or everything would be destroyed. As I'm sure you've guessed already, I serve the being known as Galan, who consumes sources of energy in order to maintain the balance of the universe. He can draw energy from everything that exists; chemical energy, the energy of motion, heat, light, radiation, and in the end, the very energy of tension that causes matter itself to exist."

"That'd be pretty scary if it weren't so important." Peter replied with a smile, but the Emissary wasn't smiling.

"You and your people have every right to be afraid of Galan, whether his role is important or not." the Emissary said, looking a little upset, "Galan may not know what it means to be mortal, but I do. I can relate to your plight; the terrible danger that you're all in."

"Yeah..." Peter said, feeling a little lost for the moment, "So what's the deal with that, anyway? I mean, what kind of danger are we in?"

The Emissary still looked very upset, but after a few seconds, he spoke again, as somber and serious as ever.

"Galan requires such an immense amount of energy, that there's only one way that he can get it. He uses his power to drain away every form of energy from moons, planets, stars... Even whole solar systems."

Peter Parker swallowed when the Emissary said that. He had an unpleasant feeling that he knew where their discussion was headed.

"To travel to star systems in search of energy consumes a great deal of Galan's own power cosmic, however." the Emissary continued sadly, "Galan needed someone who could travel the stars, without needing to use as much power as himself, and that's my function. Because of my small size, and relative lack of complexity and power, I can scout a hundred star systems using the same amount of energy that Galan himself would need to scout only one. My duty is to find star systems that are rich in energy, and report my findings to Galan. He then journeys to that star system, and feeds on everything in it, until nothing remains. That's the nature of the danger that the human species now faces."

"Wait a minute..." Peter muttered, suddenly feeling terrified, "You mean this Galan guy just gobbles up whole planets and stars like french fries?"

"Essentially." the Emissary replied.

"And now he's coming here?" Peter asked, his fear still growing.

"No." the Emissary responded, "At least not yet. Galan will come only if I signal him that I have found a star system rich in energy."

For several moments, Peter's head was reeling. There was something about the strange alien's voice and appearance that banished all doubt from his mind. Galan was a danger to the planet Earth and the entire solar system. Peter Parker knew, however, that the alien wouldn't even have been talking to him if he'd already made up his mind about whether to summon Galan or not.

"So the big guy just goes wherever you say?" Peter asked, after thinking about it for a few moments, "Anywhere? You call, he comes?"

The Emissary still didn't smile as he replied to that, however.

"Galan depends on me to provide him with knowledge of the local star systems. In that sense, I do have a great deal of sway over where he goes, and what he devours. I've used than influence more than once to direct him towards star systems that lacked intelligent life."

"So couldn't you just do the same thing here?" Peter asked, growing more worried, despite all that he'd just been told, "Why are we in so much danger?"

"There are other factors to consider." the Emissary replied testily, "When I've guided Galan to other star systems in the past, there have always been sufficient nutrients there to distract him from the ones on the civilized worlds. Look at your star system, though. Can you honestly tell me that it isn't rich in energy? Your sun is strong and healthy, and it's orbited by numerous planets, many of them enormous, and rich with chemical nutrients. The asteroid belt orbiting just beyond Mars contains greater concentrations of mass-based energy than any I've ever seen around a star. Even your planet Earth has such a vast diversity of minerals, that it alone could make his trip here worthwhile. To Galan, this star system of yours would be a feast unlike any other. If I deceive him about it, and he learns the truth, I risk suffering his wrath, and worse; earning his distrust in the future. If that happened, he would become suspicious of my reports, and wouldn't be so easy to coerce. Then I'd lose all future influence over him; every bit of power that I once had."

"Can't you just tell him that there's intelligent life here?" Peter asked, but the Emissary shook his head.

"I can't think of a worse tactic." the Emissary replied, "To Galan, life is simply another source of energy, and your people are meaningless, and make no cosmic difference. He made peace long ago with the idea of consuming entire species in order to maintain the universal balance. He would view you as less than ants, if he deigned to view you at all. Most likely, my objections would be met with simple disinterest."

Peter swallowed hard when he heard that. From the sounds of things, there wasn't much chance for the planet Earth.

"My immortal soul encourages me to protect your star system for the sake of the planet Earth and its inhabitants," the Emissary explained, "but I can't ignore the risks. If I try to defend you and fail, it might make it impossible for me to save others, costing many trillions of lives, throughout the cosmos. This is a very difficult decision, and I prefer not to make choices like this, without first considering all the facts. That's the reason why I probed your world, and that's the reason why I've asked you to give me a tour. I want to observe the way that humans live, from the mighty to the meek. I'm searching for something to convince me that your species is worth taking such a massive risk for. I don't like thinking of things in that way, but I don't see how I can think otherwise. I was born on a world where technology was built to coexist with nature, and peace and happiness reigned for a hundred thousand years. Show me your people, so that I can judge whether they can be like the people of my world some day."

At that point, the Emissary fell silent, and Peter Parker felt more nervous than ever. So that had been the reason why the alien had come to him. It was trying to determine the worth of human beings as a whole. Peter wasn't a pessimist, but he'd seen "The Day the Earth Stood Still." He had a feeling that a tour of the planet wouldn't compliment mankind at all.

"Can you read computer files?" Peter asked, curiously.

"I can access any file on any of your computers, anywhere in the world with my power cosmic. I simply use that cosmic energy to make physical contact with the electrical switches that you call bits. Then, by determining their shape, the program takes form in my mind."

"Maybe we could just use the internet to take a tour of the world..." Peter suggested, but the Emissary shook his head sadly.

"Your idea, while simple and quick, is self-defeating, I'm afraid." the Emissary explained, "Besides, I've been processing the internet since before I arrived. I learned your language through internet dictionaries and encyclopedias, but I'm afraid that most of what I found in computers was... unwholesome. If I were to take action based on the state of your internet, I'd alert Galan to the existence of your solar system immediately. However, it would be unfair to judge people based on electronic transmissions alone. I suspect that the picture of mankind that I've received has been incomplete so far."

"Processing the internet?" Peter asked, amazed, "Are you a machine?"

The Emissary looked surprised by the question, but quickly shook his head, smiling.

"The armor that covers my body is made of a network of microscopic machines that interlock over each other. They protect me from both the most terrible cold, and the worst heat, and of course, from physical impact, but they also function as a network of what you'd call super-computers, and they can process the combined data of an entire world in moments, feeding it directly into my mind."

"That's amazing..." Peter said, fascinated, "How do you manage to power something like that?"

"The power transmitter is in my board, but if need-be, I can use my own power cosmic instead."

"Emissary..." Peter said at last, hoping that one more question wouldn't be too far out of line, "What's the power cosmic, exactly?"

The Emissary looked a little started by the question for a moment, but decided to reply honestly.

"The power cosmic is the purest form of energy in the universe. It's energy removed from the universe, and reintroduced by a being whose function is to handle that energy. Its relationship to normal energy is not unlike energy's relationship to matter, in that it produces all things about energy that give it power, and make it tangible. It can also be used to change the shape of energy, and thus matter, if one wields it skillfully enough."

Peter wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. The Emissary was describing aspects of science that even the best scientists on Earth would have been hard-pressed to understand. Peter was a good science student for the most part, but it was hard to grasp some of those concepts. He felt a little out of his league in more ways than one.

"How much time do we have for the tour?" Peter asked curiously.

"No longer than three weeks." the Emissary replied, "At that time, Galan will enter this galaxy, and yours will by one of the first star systems he passes by. To be safe, I'd prefer if our tour took less than two and a half weeks."

"It's just that I was wondering if we could maybe postpone this until tomorrow." Peter said carefully, "I've got a weekend coming up, and I need to get some sleep."

"I see no reason to delay the tour." the Emissary replied, "Surely, no other concern of yours exceeds this one in importance."

"No. It's not that." Peter said, "It's just that humans need to rest sometimes, in order to stay at their best. Otherwise, we get tired, and can't think straight."

However, as Peter was saying that, something started to happen that was worrying him. The Emissary's aura of light was fading, revealing his silver armor, and instead of shining from his whole body, the light began to emerge from his eyes and hands alone. In a single motion, the Emissary aimed one hand at Peter, palm out, and he was bathed in a blinding beam that covered him all over. It had been a long time since Peter had been quite that scared. Even considering all the powers that he had as Spider-man, he couldn't have defended himself from the Emissary. In a second, that beam of light had covered him, and he could feel it inside of him, altering him; changing him somehow. Peter wasn't sure what that change would mean at first. It felt strange, but it wasn't a feeling that he could describe. As the light faded, however, and Peter found himself still in one piece, he started to realize what the alien had just done. His whole body felt vibrant and tireless, as if he'd just worked half a day, and was at his best, full of energy, and in no danger at all of falling asleep.

"As I understand it..." the Emissary said, as Peter felt himself over in awe, "Your exhaustion is caused by a simple chemical imbalance that builds in your body over time. I've used my power cosmic to correct that imbalance for now. There's no reason not to begin immediately."

For a moment, a hundred thoughts and excuses raced through Peter's head; a hundred ideas for how to escape from the huge responsibility that he was being faced with; to the Emissary and to all of humanity. However, as Spider-man, Peter had faced dangers that were just as great in the past, and when his feelings and thoughts stopping racing, he realized that there was only one thing that he absolutely needed to do before going with the silver surfer.

"In that case, can I have five minutes to make a call?" Peter asked, "I just have a couple of things I have to say to a friend. Then I can go wherever you want."

The Emissary seemed disappointed for a moment, but he recovered his composure quickly.

"Five minutes isn't a problem." he said, trying to smile just a little, "I'll meet you back here at that time."

In just a second, the ceiling had started to ripple again, and the Emissary rose up on his board, passing through the once-solid surface as if it were a liquid substance. In only a moment, he'd vanished just as he'd arrived.

Once the Emissary was gone, and Peter was alone again, his thoughts were racing. For a moment, he started to consider the options he had. Should he tell the alien that he was Spider-man? It might be easier than letting everyone know that Peter Parker was the alien's guide. Then again, even if it was easier for him, the Emissary might not take it well. As far as Peter could tell, the Emissary hadn't kept any secrets from him yet, and asking him to help maintain Peter's secret identity might not be so easy. Maybe he wouldn't even be willing to keep the secret. Then there was the possibility that the Emissary wouldn't even understand the secret, or the need for secrets in general. He might see them as just like lies; a barrier to doing the right thing. Peter swallowed hard. As much as he hated the idea, he was the silver surfer's new tour guide. He didn't have any choice but to take up that role, and hope he did well in it. Once Peter had accepted that, all that was left to worry about was the call that he had to make.

Quickly, Peter seized a small device from inside his bag. The device was built to look like an ordinary beeper, and there was nothing on it to indicate otherwise. Quickly, Peter pushed the button on top of the machine, and spoke calmly and evenly into it.

"JJJ five-ten-four. This is Spider-man."

Almost at once, the voice of Widow replied from the machine, perfectly even and calm. Spider-man thought, for a moment, that maybe Widow hadn't realized what had just happened based on that, but then, Widow never panicked over anything.

"What's your situation, Spider-man?" Widow asked.

"I think this one might be pretty big." Spider-man tried to explain, "There's this alien here, and... He's got really advanced technology."

"Understood." Widow replied without a seconds hesitation, "Is he hostile?"

There had been so little surprise in Widow's voice, that Spider-man wasn't sure what to think. She was professional to a fault. It was a little tough to cope with.

"No. Not at all." Spider-man replied, "But he says there's another alien; a more powerful one, who wouldn't mind destroying the whole world. He says he wants me to take him on a tour of the planet to prove mankind's worth to survive, or something like that. I wish I had more time to explain it."

"Is he aware of your other identity?" Widow asked.

Of course, Peter felt like he was being put on the spot again. Widow was the only member of the Avengers who knew his secret identity, and he had no desire to see that number grow.

"Is anybody else there?" Peter asked nervously.

"No." Widow simply replied.

"The truth is, he came to me as Peter Parker." Peter said, "I think it's the same alien who sent me those e-mails I told you about. I doubt he knows I'm Spider-man."

"He wants you to guide him as Peter Parker?" Widow asked, finally sounding a little surprised, "Strange, but not impossible. What kind of help do you need?"

"I don't know what to do." Peter said, starting to get more worried as he spoke, "Can't you give me some kind of advice or something?"

"For the moment, I'd go along with his plan, but be sure to let us know if the alien makes any hostile moves, or expresses any desire to speak with representatives. Then we can take over. One last thing. Do I have your permission to reveal your identity to the other Avengers?"

"No!" Peter replied quickly, "Don't you dare! I have enough problems right now, to..."

"Suit yourself," Widow replied quickly, "but it would have been easier to plan our next move if I could explain my source of information on the alien. For that matter, I wish you had time to tell me more."

"Well, I didn't plan all this out." Peter replied with a frown, "It just kind of happened."

"Good luck, then." Widow replied, terminating the transmission from her end, and leaving Peter alone with his problems again. Quickly, he stuffed the transmitter into one of his pockets, hoping that the silver surfer wouldn't notice it in a few more seconds, when he returned.

Sure enough, the surfer was punctual, descending through the ceiling again, just as he had before, almost precisely five minutes after he'd left.

"Have you made your call?" the Emissary asked, as the ceiling re-solidified behind him. Peter just nodded. For once, he wouldn't have known what to say.

"In that case, please get on my board." the Emissary said, making no effort to keep from looking morose, "There's a great deal that we need to see."

Slowly, cautiously, Peter did as he was told, stepping onto the large, flat surface on the front of the board. He was surprised to find that the board felt extremely solid and dependable, in spite of the fact that there wasn't anything holding it up in the air. It didn't give even an inch as he climbed on, and when it finally starting moving again, rising up towards the ceiling, there was almost no resistance at all in the air. It was as if the board wasn't even moving, or rather, it was as if the board itself had its own source of gravity, and Peter had been completely separated from the gravity of the Earth. It was incredible, but sure enough, Peter reached one hand underneath the board, and found, to his amazement, that his hand was drawn to the bottom of the board when he did that. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that he could have stood on it upside-down, even without using his spider-powers, although he wasn't about to try that.

In a second, the board, the surfer and he; Peter Parker, had passed right through the once-solid roof, and were off through the air in a burst of speed. Peter could tell that the board had started moving at over a hundred miles an hour, because of how fast things were passing by, but there wasn't any other sign of speed. The air around the board and its passengers seemed to be moving with them, following them as they traveled. It was as if something was protecting the board and its passengers, both from the loss of balance that would normally occur during such a trip, and from the gusts of wind and small particles in the air which, at the speed they were going, would have been a real hazard. The long and short of it was that they were traveling with breathtaking speed, and yet, to Peter, it still felt just like standing in the middle of his bedroom. If he'd closed his eyes, he probably could have fooled himself into thinking that he wasn't moving at all, although he wasn't about to do that either.

After a few moments, however, Peter was able to summon the courage to stand upright on the board, at which point it started traveling even faster, although there still wasn't any loss of balance, or wind resistance to speak of. Somehow, the silver surfer was using his powers to prevent that. However, after about thirty seconds of flying at that speed through the lower atmosphere, Peter had to ask a question.

"Where are we going?"

"At this point, nowhere." the Emissary replied, "We'll continue flying like this until you get used to the idea of navigating at this speed."

That, of course, was the real challenge; not just getting comfortable with flying around at breakneck speed, but learning to recognize and respond to land marks extremely rapidly. Geography wasn't Peter's strong suit, but after about five minutes, he'd started to recognize the passing landscape, and in a few more seconds, he was sure that he knew where he was.

"Now what?" Peter asked, a little confused.

"Now the tour begins." the Emissary simply said, but that wasn't what Peter had wanted to know at all.

"If you want me to guide you someplace; to see something, that's fine." Peter said, "I can do that, but I need to know what you want to see specifically. We can't go to every single town on Earth and examine every aspect of it in just two and a half weeks. That isn't reasonable, even if we never sleep."

By that time, the board's forward motion had stopped completely, though again, there was no pulling sensation to indicate that it had moved at all. Clearly, the Emissary was trying to think of some way to shorten the tour.

"Since your species honors concepts of possession, I need to examine your poor, your rich, intelligent scientists, wise spiritual leaders, the religious, atheists, the state of your business world, and lastly, your national leaders, and the structure of your governments. I need to understand how these things work in all of the major societies on your world."

Even that was a tall order, but it did limit what had to be done. Unfortunately, it meant crossing a lot of borders illegally, but some things were just that important.

"In that case, let's start with New York." Peter said with a smile, "You can find most of those things right here."

In just a few seconds more, the tour began.

* * *

Peter hadn't been sure how to deal with the new responsibility he'd been handed at first, but once he got out into New York with the silver surfer, things became progressively more complicated. For one thing, he and the surfer were seen together in public by numerous people. None of them recognized him, because New York was a big city, and Peter didn't know too many people, but he knew that it was going to make his life more complicated from then on. Whether he liked it or not, Peter Parker's face was going to be somewhat renowned from that day forward.

Secondly, the surfer seemed to like asking Peter a lot of questions about what he'd observed, and Peter had to admit that although he was good with science, there were a lot of things about life that he didn't understand, and couldn't explain to the Emissary. The first place that he'd been asked to visit, for instance, was a bad neighborhood, in which a lot of poor people lived in shabby apartments that they were having trouble paying for, because they couldn't afford to get jobs. Peter overheard one girl in particular saying that she was afraid of even trying to get a job; that she might lose her source of income if she did, but when the surfer asked Peter why that was, he couldn't answer. He'd lived with his aunt and uncle for most of his life, so he hadn't faced housing problems before, and thanks to his association with the Avengers, he might never have to face them at all. There were things about poverty in America that Peter just didn't know. For a moment, he almost wished that Doctor Doom was there. He would have been able to answer all of the surfer's questions about poverty. Then again, his presence came with risks of its own. Peter wouldn't actually have chanced having Doom around during such a delicate diplomatic attempt with a new, alien form of life.

The tour of the city continued for hours as the two of them visited many places; temples, churches, labs, workplaces open during late hours; even people's homes. Peter didn't like eavesdropping because he knew better than most that some secrets should be kept, but it seemed that the surfer had no problem with listening in on the personal lives of others, and a few of the things they said to one another made Peter's job even harder, because they drew further questions from the surfer.

Why had that man cursed so often? Why had that woman been so testy? Why was that child encouraged in such irresponsible and lazy behavior? The more questions that Peter failed to answer to the being's satisfaction, the greater the emotional wall that seemed to be building between the surfer and the guide he'd chosen. Even when the surfer had been examining scientists, he'd seemed more concerned with the personal conduct of the scientists, and with their scientific ethics, than with any advancements they might be making. Scientific experiments, and the technology of the people on Earth didn't seem to hold the Emissary's interest. At last, after a while, the surfer simply floated in the air above New York, with some kind of invisible force surrounding his board, which drew in sound waves from below. To Peter, the sounds were all a jumble, but the Emissary seemed to get something out of them. Just as Peter's wristwatch told him that it had turned ten thirty-one in the evening, the surfer straightened up to his full height, and started to glow again, although not as brightly as he had earlier.

"There are a few more things that I need to ask before we move on." the surfer said, and in a second, Peter heard the sound of a man's voice; clear and free of clutter, speaking as if he were very nearby.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure there's a purpose to it all. We just don't know what it is yet."

Then another person's voice was heard, clear as a bell, though it was rough and angry.

"Man, what a dumb thing to say. It's just a rotten situation. You can't magic that away. Stupid religious fanatic."

"What?" the first voice asked, "What did you say? I didn't say anything about religion! Why do you have to go insulting people for no reason?"

"You don't have to say it. Everybody knows. They all agree with me too. That's why none of them ever want to talk to you."

There was uncomfortable silence for a couple of seconds, then the first voice spoke up again.

"That isn't how you really feel, is it?"

After another brief hesitation, a third voice spoke up; clearly female.

"Well, no. I... I mean I don't mind talking to people, no matter what they're like, but... Well, you make me uncomfortable sometimes. All that stuff you... Well, it's not what you say. It's just that everybody knows that you... Well, you know. I heard you went to church the other day."

"And the week before that, and the one before that." the first voice replied, "What's wrong with that?"

"Well, I just... It makes me a little uncomfortable when... I mean, I feel like you're judging me sometimes... Like I can't just do what I want."

"Just because I think some things are wrong doesn't make me judgmental." the first voice said, but it was plain that neither of the other two were willing to listen to his objections.

"I'm sorry... I have to go." the girl replied, and in a moment, Peter could hear her footsteps.

A moment later, another set of footsteps receded into the distance, and Peter started to hear another sound, a sound that came across as being a lot like miserable whimpering.

At last, the sounds came to an end, and the silver surfer sighed, looking at Peter from the other side of the board, with an expression of sorrow on his face.

"Explain it."

Peter wanted to cry himself. The fact was, it sounded like a workplace conversation, or an argument in the hall of a college somewhere, and it didn't sound all that strange or alien. Peter had heard similar things in his own life, though not to that degree. A large number of people in that area of the world had fallen into the belief that nothing one did was truly wrong, just bad for some people, and good for others. That belief had grown in strength and influence as more and more people had desperately wanted it to be true. After all, if it were true, then they could pretty much do whatever they wanted, and blame the consequences on someone else. Peter was very much convinced that that mentality was responsible for a lot of the crimes he'd needed to stop recently, but he couldn't have explained it all to the Emissary, even though he understood it.

The fact of the matter was that not only were lots of people in the modern world worshiping themselves, their desires, and their feelings, but they were treating everyone who didn't with scorn and elitism, persecuting them for their beliefs, whether those beliefs were fully expressed or not. It wasn't that Peter didn't understand the problem, but he didn't have any way to explain it without admitting that some people were simply foolish, and enjoyed putting others down.

"I wish I could." Peter said at last.

"Really?" the Emissary asked frankly, "No explanation? These are your people; the people who live within a mile of your home. You've lived among them your whole life. You truly can't say anything in their defense?"

However, Peter couldn't even bring himself to reply to that. As a super-hero, Peter saved people's lives, and they tended to be grateful to him more often than not. For a while, that fact had made it easy for him to ignore the social and interpersonal problems spreading through the populace, but when he was really confronted with those problems, Peter realized that they made it very difficult to defend the worth of mankind. He just had to hope that the surfer would get a better impression from other areas of the world.

However, they weren't moving yet. In a moment, another voice was heard throughout the air all around Peter and the Emissary. The voice belonged to a woman from the sound of it, and she was very upset over something.

"What? But you told me I'd get the funding by today. It's today. Where is it?"

"Look Amy..." a male voice replied, "I've been trying and trying, but I just can't get them to agree to anything like what you've been proposing."

"You told me you could convince them once they saw my findings."

There was silence for several seconds, and when the man finally replied, there was miserable sadness in his voice.

"The truth is, Amy, I think most of them don't even want to listen to your ideas."

There was more silence for about half as long, before the man continued.

"Amy, I was sure when you showed me that stuff, because I've been working on the practical end of things for years, and I know what a big breakthrough this could be. There could be millions of dollars worth of practical applications. I mean, this is something that could change the world. I think that for people like us, who actually enjoy accomplishing things, that's enough, but boards of directors don't work in practical fields. They manage economics, and they don't make their choices based on findings or evidence. They make them based on how they feel. I brought this to them, and they barely even looked at it. To them, radio waves are for sensing things, and sending signals. They don't want to accept that they could be used to heal people. Plus, I think they may be getting some pressure from the government not to do research on potential medical cures unless it involves stem cells."

"But that's crazy!" Amy exclaimed, "It's like that obsession with alchemy during the dark ages! You know nothing ever came of it. People spent hundreds of years trying to find some way to use a stupid fake science to turn lead into gold, and in the end, all it did was hold them back. The same thing is happening now. When I'm so close to a breakthrough in physics using radio waves, why can't I see that through? Are you telling me that they won't fund my research because I'm not discovering the breakthroughs they want? Are they punishing me because real science isn't what they want it to be?"

"Amy... Listen..." the voice at the other end said, "It's not right. It's not fair. I know. But you have to calm down. Believe me, if you go running into a board meeting, calling everyone crazy, and saying you're not going to take it anymore, it wouldn't help your case. They'd probably try to have you arrested, and you'd lose your credibility in the scientific community."

"I've already lost all my credibility in the scientific community for trying to be scientific." Amy replied bitterly.

"Look, maybe I can't help you," the male voice said, "but I think I can get you in touch with someone who can. I heard there was some research like this being done over at Stark Industries, and they might listen to your idea. Mister Stark's a reasonable guy. He's a scientist himself, in fact."

"He's a weapons designer." Amy replied angrily.

"He funds the Avengers." the male voice said.

"I guess I could give it a shot." Amy admitted after pausing for a few seconds, "I don't like this, though, Hal. I've already gone to over two dozen companies in the New York area alone, and they all gave me the same answer you did. None of them wants anything to do with legitimate science."

The conversation probably continued after that, but the voices faded at that point. Once again, the surfer looked sadly at Peter, and said "explain it."

However, Peter couldn't give an explanation for what he'd heard that didn't sound incriminating to mankind. Hopelessness, stagnation, desperation, and loss were far from rare in the world, and anything that threatened to make the world any better was either rejected by the rich without a full hearing, or else embraced by rich and poor alike, without bothering to study it objectively. In the business world, there was much drive, much energy, much money, much enthusiasm... Only rarely was there hard, reliable data on what was being bought, sold and traded. Once again, people worshiped themselves and their feelings, leaving solid logic and plain common sense to rot in the dust at their feet, and people who tried to pick that logic up were excluded, scorned, and in time, ruined. That had been the case for far too long. When Professor Albert Einstein had developed the theory of special relativity, he'd needed to do it without any funding or assistance, and without having even been given the chance to work in the field he was best at, and over fifty years later, people were happily ignoring his accomplishment again, if it meant that they could believe what they wanted to about the universe. Since the Emissary had brought that to Peter's attention so directly, and so specifically, he had to admit that it was virtually unforgivable. There was no way that Peter could explain it.

"I guess I'm not very good at this." Peter admitted at last, not even replying to what the surfer had said anymore, "You said I liked humans, and was also intelligent, and maybe that's true, but it wasn't really because of anything people did to earn my trust. It's just that I have a pretty good sense of humor, so when bad things happen, and other people cause them, I don't let it get to me. I just do my best to try to fix things, no matter what other people do or don't do. It's really all I can do. I'm only one person."

"Then despite your intelligence, you like other humans for no logical reason?" the Emissary noted.

Peter had to hesitate when he was asked that. He'd been trying to put it more delicately, but it was true that logic didn't play much of a role in Peter's desire to help others.

"I guess..." Peter just replied, "Maybe I just had to be smart enough to realize that I couldn't depend on the facts to cheer me up."

Of course, when Peter said that, he could tell that his situation hadn't improved any. The Emissary was becoming more and more distant, and he'd sounded almost as if he was about to jump to a conclusion about the human race, but just then, the surfer seemed to detect something that he hadn't seen before. He was staring off into the distance, as if he'd just noticed something very unexpected.

"There's someone approaching us in an aircraft." the surfer said after just a moment.

"What are you going to do?" Peter asked, suddenly growing worried.

"If I can, I'll convince them to leave us be." the surfer replied, "If they're hostile, I am willing to defend myself, though that won't be a positive sign for them."

"What kind of..." Peter began, wondering, at first, what aircraft type was approaching, but it was moving fast enough, that by the time the words started to leave his mouth, Peter could already recognize the aircraft that was closing with them. It belonged to the Fantastic Four.

"Don't worry." Peter said to the Emissary, as the fantasticar slowed and came to a stop just a few yards away, "That's the Fantastic Four. They're heroes."

"I only sense three life-forms." the surfer replied curiously, but Peter just shrugged.

"One of them must be busy somewhere else. Don't worry about them. They won't try to attack you."

The Emissary nodded for a moment, and moved his board closer to the fantasticar, until the two were within a foot of each other. At that point, Peter could hear the voices of Reed, Sue, and Ben, as they discussed the strange being who Peter had agreed to guide.

"...A fascinating chance to learn more about life outside of our star system, Ben."

"I thought you wanted his secrets, stretch."

"We have to start with something that at least sounds friendly. He doesn't look hostile."

In seconds, Reed had stretched his neck out towards the silver surfer, hoping to get within earshot of him, completely unaware that the Emissary could hear him, no matter where he was in the city.

"Welcome to Earth." Reed said, once his head was close enough to the alien surfboard, "If you don't mind, we'd like to talk with you about a few things that are very important to us."

The surfer had never seen Reed use his stretching ability before, but he didn't seem terribly impressed by it either. In fact, he considered only the words of the fantastic person in front of him, and when he spoke a moment later, his own words were just loud enough to be heard clearly by everyone within ten yards.

"I have great obligations to the universe, and to my master. I'm afraid that I can't afford to waste time discussing planet-side matters, and I also can't let myself be sidetracked by concerns that don't apply to me, or to my mission."

"What?" Reed asked, a little confused, "Look, I just need your help with something. There was this machine that came to Earth a while back, and it uses a type of energy I've never seen before..."

"If you're looking to comprehend the power cosmic, you won't receive any help from me." the surfer replied, "That knowledge comes at much too high a price."

"Are you the one who sent that machine to Earth?" Reed asked, confused.

"Yes." the Emissary replied, "It malfunctioned for some reason, and was unable to finish gathering the information that I needed."

"My friends and I were changed by it." Reed explained. When he said that, however, the surfer's eyes started to widen a little in interest.

"Then it lost control of its own experiment, until it shut down..." the Emissary realized, "and your condition stabilized naturally. Fascinating. In all the time that I've sent out probes, this has never happened before. Yes. Your elasticity, and the mental and physical powers that you and your friends have gained could only have occurred through accelerated biological adaptation. It seems that you've managed to benefit from a cosmic accident. Don't be afraid, however. If you and your friends survive the month, I'll make no attempt to remove these abilities from you. You may continue to use them as you see fit."

"In a pig's eye!" Ben exclaimed from his seat in the fantasticar, "You ain't going nowhere 'til my charming complexion softens up!"

"Ben!" Reed exclaimed, turning back to face his friend for a moment, "Would you please let me handle...?"

However, Reed didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. In seconds, the silver surfer had glided through the air, to within a few inches of Ben Grimm, and was gazing at him; not in anger, but in simple interest.

"Are you asking me for a favor?" the Emissary inquired in fascination, though his calm demeanor didn't improve Ben's temperament any.

"You ain't hummin' no star spangled banner." Ben grumbled loudly, "I want ya to turn me back, pronto!"

"Reverse the bio-adaptive alterations in your body?" the Emissary asked in astonishment, "Why would you want that? From what I can sense of your mass, you should be several hundred times stronger than the others of your species."

"That ain't the point." Ben said angrily, "Nobody's gonna want to look at this mug of mine every time they get up in the morning, are they?"

"That doesn't sound terribly unpleasant to me." the Emissary replied with a shrug.

"And I'm sure where you come from, big rock monsters are all the rage or something," Ben said, starting to calm down a little, "but it ain't you I'm tryin' to impress. Here on planet Earth, we've got something called cuties, and most of them ain't too crazy about the Mount Rushmore look."

"I see." the Emissary said, suddenly donning a bored expression, "For a moment, I thought that your reasoning might have been complicated, or even flattering, but you're only concerned with changing your appearance to attract a mate."

"It's a big deal to me!" Ben exclaimed, suddenly growing furious again.

"Indeed, and yet surely, your strength is not so great that you'd lose control of it, and injure a mate. Is your appearance really the only deterrent that you have to deal with?"

"Watch it, mister." Ben said, his fury subduing itself into a relatively quiet type of loathing, "I'm a pretty nice guy to have for a pal, but there's some implications I don't take from anybody."

"I don't mean to imply anything," the surfer replied, still looking a little bored, "but are human females truly so influenced by appearance?"

"Depends how long you've known 'em for." Ben replied, still looking a little testy.

"That's disturbing news." the surfer said sadly, "Still, I understand your situation a bit better now. Right at the moment, I'm very busy with a matter that will almost certainly determine the fate of this entire star system. Your concerns will need to be addressed after that question has been resolved."

"Huh?" Ben asked, not sure how to take the alien's reply, "Is that a yes?"

"No." the surfer replied, "I'm still deliberating over whether or not to do as you've asked. Ordinarily, I would help to undo damage done by my technology to a sentient species, but your current form is not a negative change from your old one in any objective sense, and..."

"What?" Ben demanded furiously, trying to interrupt, but the surfer's voice simply grew louder, to drown him out.

"...I don't want to do anything to you that would decrease your chances for survival in the future. Also, I didn't exactly cause this problem of yours. Your real problem isn't your appearance, but how others of your species react to it. That problem is created by your own kind, and a small part of me wants to insist that your own kind should be the ones to resolve it. Of course, there's a chance that I might give in, and agree to weaken you, regardless of how great a mistake I might think it is. That chance is nebulous at the moment, but you won't increase it by arguing with me."

Ben looked absolutely livid as the surfer finished his speech, but he didn't reply immediately. Instead, he leaned across the fantasticar, and spoke to his friend Reed.

"Hey, big brain..." the Thing said angrily, "Do we have to take that from this guy?"

"I'm afraid so, big fella." Reed replied, with an apologetic look in the direction of his friend, "After all, we still don't have any idea how this silver surfer generates power, and we definitely need his help, unless you'd like to wait for another power cosmic-wielding alien to show up."

Ben was grumbling angrily as he leaned back in his seat a moment later, but it was obvious that he was ready to agree to the alien's demands, if not aloud.

"If the three of you return to the structure that you call home, I'll memorize its location." the surfer continued, "Then, if I decide to give you what you want, you can expect me to look for you there. Don't leave that building unattended at any point in the next three weeks. If I don't return to you by the time three weeks have passed, you'll never see me again."

Then, with those authoritative words hanging in the air, the surfer turned his board around, and started to travel away from the fantasticar. When he did that, Peter Parker felt a very unique emotion. Earlier that night, he'd gotten very upset with Widow for even suggesting that it might be a good time to reveal his identity to his teammates, but suddenly, as he and the surfer moved away from the Fantastic Four, Peter felt a great, emotional desire to call out to them, and let them know who he was. It would have been foolish, of course, but then, many kinds of feelings were.

In just a moment, Peter and the surfer were off again, traveling miles and miles in the blink of an eye.

* * *

To Be Continued...


	25. Issue 25: The Verdict

Tales From the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 25

"The Verdict"

* * *

Even considering how important his job was, the silver surfer was a pretty demanding person. He and Peter flew to three other countries over the course of that night; the United Kingdom, France and Switzerland. In each of those nations, the most common mentalities of its citizens seemed to differ. The UK, for instance, seemed to suffer from rare, but strong prejudices against some of the more pacifistic religions, while the French had a surface-level respect for morality and ethics, and even for religion, but very little for outsiders. Switzerland, by contrast, was relatively peaceful, though very set in its ways. In every nation, the surfer translated the words of its inhabitants, having apparently mastered their languages beforehand, and asked Peter questions about the less-forgivable conduct that he observed. Every so often, Peter would be able to offer some clarification about something they saw or overheard, but for the most part, things were just as bad as they looked.

Touring those three nations took about six hours by board, and at the end of that time, Peter knew that he wouldn't be home in time to keep his aunt from worrying, so he politely asked the surfer if he could make another call. The surfer looked distracted and uninterested, but agreed to it, returning Peter to New York in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

Peter's call was picked up by the answering machine at his house. Aunt May shouldn't worry because Peter was on another brief trip, but he'd be back by Monday morning. Yes. He'd make sure not to overexert himself.

With that explanation, Peter hung up the pay phone he'd been using, having left his cell phone at home, and thought about making another brief call to Widow. However, that might have been too much to hope for. Peter was lucky that the surfer hadn't noticed the first call he'd made to her, if he could really read electronic transmissions as easily as he'd said.

After hanging up the phone, Peter Parker accompanied the surfer on a tour of Russia and China. The first was full of such desperation and need that very few philosophies or opinions circulated en masse among the public, while the second was filled with suffering and repressed hatred of its dictator. The surfer's expression grew sour as he visited those countries, but after that, Peter noticed that he was starting to get hungry.

Once again, Peter's request to the surfer was met with some disappointment, but he eventually acquiesced, returning Peter to a small-scale pizza joint in Midwestern America. He even waited patiently as Peter finished eating and eventually met up with him again. From there, the two proceeded to spend the next six hours visiting Canada, Mexico and Spain. The surfer expressed deep sadness over one holy man who'd been arrested for preaching what he believed in in Canada. His family and friends were still talking about it, even after months, and that was, Peter had to admit, somewhat understandable. Other, similar occurrences seemed to dominate the surfer's thoughts as he recognized them for what they were; oppression.

In Mexico, there was much suffering and abuse of power by the mighty. People lived in fear of death, but it was also the first nation they'd visited where Peter saw the surfer smile. The familial mentality and devotion among many members of its population was something, the surfer claimed, that could continue on into the next generation.

Again and again, Peter and the surfer traveled across the world to different nations and different social climates. Some areas of the world had less-powerful collections of nations that all shared a similar average mentality, and the surfer made sure to visit those as well. At last, almost two days after he'd first arrived, the silver surfer returned to New York, looking despondent and scared. Peter had never seen him quite like that before.

The silver surfer eventually deposited Peter outside of his house, and for a moment, didn't seem sure what to say. When he finally spoke up, it was with one last look of hope on his face.

"Peter Parker, I fear you've done a great deal of harm to your people by maintaining this silence. Too often in all this time, you've insisted that you can't explain the behavior of mankind. I give you one final chance to do so before I make my decision."

Peter almost shuddered when he heard those words. If the surfer was really all that he claimed to be, an explanation like that could spell disaster and doom for the human race. However, Peter had to say something.

"I was afraid that you might not like what I had to say." Peter admitted.

"No explanation could be worse than this silence." the surfer replied, "Tell me the truth."

For a moment, Peter hesitated, but although his explanation might have been seen as incriminating, he knew he had to give it anyway. He doubted very much that anything would make the surfer any sadder.

"The truth is, people have flaws." Peter admitted, "They have weaknesses, and they can be easy to fool into thinking their way's the right one, but not everybody's like that. There are lots of people in the world that are humble enough to recognize that serving themselves isn't enough, or else wise enough to realize that worshiping themselves won't make them happy. Maybe those people aren't common enough to make much of a difference in society, but they do exist, and if any of them are lost because of what others did wrong, that's tragic."

For a moment, the surfer seemed to consider Peter's words, and his expression of grief started to deepen a little as he did so.

"There's wisdom in what you've just said, Peter Parker. In a sense, you're quite correct. It's definitely a tragedy when a good soul is lost from this universe, no matter what other factors come into play. However, there are worse things."

"Worse things?" Peter asked, fear growing within him all at once, "You're not seriously considering...?"

"Worse things, such as the loss of a dozen star systems, each with deserving, intelligent life." the surfer said, "You can't know the horror of witnessing that. It's beyond description. Furthermore, when a good soul is placed among wicked ones, inevitably they suffer and grow discouraged, year after year. If your problems consisted of only a few bad souls, I wouldn't react so strongly, but whole sections of your world seem dominated by wicked, selfish, and cruel mentalities, which are then preached to the young, so that the suffering and impurity can continue in the following generation. You know that you can do nothing to prevent that from happening."

It was just what Peter had been afraid would happen. The surfer was reacting to what he'd seen from a perspective that viewed end results as all that mattered, much like Doctor Doom, and he wasn't done talking.

"To weigh the worth of one race of beings against a hundred potential star systems that also need my help would have been a difficult enough decision." the surfer said miserably, "but at this point, that's no longer the issue. I genuinely find myself wondering if I would be doing the human race any kind of favor to spare it from extinction. The good people that you spoke so wisely on behalf of... Do you think they share your idea of mercy? Do they plead for their lives to continue? From what I've seen, the only people who request a longer life are people who are aging, ailing, starving, oppressed, or about to be executed. When humans are freed from concern about their immediate, animal needs, they become just as obsessed with attempting to impose their own kind of lifestyle on the entire community to which they belong, whether it's truly best for the whole community or not. Then, they start to suffer the results of such belligerence, and pine for more peaceful times. In truth, humanity is divided. Your people don't know what they want."

"It takes time to figure things like that out." Peter objected, but the surfer just shook his head.

"Listen to this." the surfer said, holding up one hand for silence, and in just a moment, a new voice emerged, speaking aloud, seemingly from all around the two of them.

"Is that really how you feel?" a female voice asked.

"It's the only way I can feel." an older, male voice replied, "What happened to Sophia's enough to back me up in this. Even if she'd been injured or killed, it wouldn't have upset me like this. All this time, I tried to help her learn what it means to be a responsible adult, and now... Now she's lost her honor, and she doesn't even care. No one does anymore, except me."

"I wish I could say something to make you feel better," the woman said, "but people just don't see the family concept as being important anymore."

"Then they're fools. Family is one of the most important things in life."

There was a pause of several seconds before the man spoke again.

"At this point, even if she wanted to recover from this, I don't see how she could. Not without meeting Jeffrey again and convincing him to atone for what he did. She's dishonored herself, and she's dishonored her child, and me too. She's brought dishonor on her whole family. I don't see how this kind of thing could ever be fixed. It kills me inside, Samantha. It tears me apart to think of what Sophia did, and the kind of thoughts that went through her head before she did it, and since then. We used to be such a good family. We loved and respected each other. Now all that's destroyed, and there's nothing I can do to fix it, and the worst part is that the same thing happens to girls her age all over the country."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Samantha asked, attempting sympathy.

"Not unless you can change the past." the man said miserably, "But I'll tell you something, Samantha. If I'd known how this was all going to turn out, I would rather have destroyed the whole world than let this happen to my daughter."

Peter was horrified by those words, but he was even more horrified of what the surfer was trying to say.

"Sometimes..." Peter tried to explain, not sure how to explain it best for a moment, "Sometimes, when bad things happen, people say things they don't really mean..."

"Comments like that one are not unique." the surfer replied, "I chose it as merely the best example. That man valued his family. He treated them with love and respect, and a member of that family betrayed his trust, because your society taught her that her father's ways were intolerable and old-fashioned. These words were spoken in Tennessee, but the desire for any kind of global change, and even the craving for the end of the world can be found in any state in any nation. Some are motivated by religious reasons, desiring a supernatural reward. Others genuinely believe that mankind will do less damage if it is destroyed now. These kinds of extreme reactions are not absurdly numerous, but there are enough of them that my own thoughts strayed, for a moment, to that same question; would the human species be better off dead?"

"Would any species?" Peter asked, frustrated, "Come on! That's ridiculous!"

"Of course it is." the surfer replied, looking somewhat frustrated himself, "Yet, many of your own people seem to have answered that question incorrectly. That isn't something I can just ignore. The very fact that I bothered to ask myself that question troubles me, however. The question has such an obvious answer when I pause for a moment to apply logic to it. Your people's argument must have simply been very eloquent to be able to give me pause like that. I have seen existence in a twisted light for just a moment, and only the greatest horrors have ever been able to make me do that. You know that for horror to exist, two things are needed; a fiend to cause tragedy, and an innocent victim. This world has both in abundance, and it shows no sign that things will get any better. The things that I have seen and heard..."

"You can't let it happen, Emissary." Peter objected, "You can't let Galan destroy this whole world."

"I'm sorry," the surfer said sadly, "but I have no possession that is mightier than Galan's trust. If I lose that, I lose everything. That trust could mean the salvation of a hundred thousand inhabited systems if I choose not to discard it trying to save the planet Earth. I can't; I won't take that risk."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Peter demanded to know, "Just sit around and let him tear the whole planet apart?"

"If you think that you have something to offer him in exchange for sparing it, you can attempt to barter with him, as I once did." the surfer replied, "but this is such a large and rich system that I doubt he'd listen. Still, I will give you some advice. If you want to make a bargain with Galan, don't address him by that name. He'd consider it too familiar. Call him Galactus. He only answers to the name Galan in the company of his peers, and he would certainly not consider you a peer. Even I've only addressed him three times by his true name, and in all three of those instances, he chose not to respond. If that information doesn't prove useful to you, then there's no reason for me to even say good-bye."

It was obvious that the silver surfer was feeling miserable, but that didn't mean a thing to Peter Parker at that moment, or to Spider-man. As the surfer started to rise into the air away from him, Peter didn't even care whether he was overheard or not anymore. He pulled the Avengers transmitter from his pocket, and spoke into it as quickly as he could.

"JJJ five-ten-four. This is Spider-man. It's really bad, Widow."

However, it seemed that the person on duty in the monitor room wasn't Widow, but Captain America.

"What is it, Spider-man?" Cap asked, concern growing in his voice. Peter was shocked and worried by that for a moment, but he could tell that Captain America and the others had been told as much about the situation as he'd been able to safely tell Widow. The sound of dread in the voice of one of Earth's most famous heroes clearly indicated that he understood the threat.

"Our alien buddy just decided we don't deserve to live." Spider-man replied into the communicator, "He's going to call his big, bad master Galactus, and the big guy's planning to tear the planet apart. Sound like a good idea to you?"

It wasn't a real question, and didn't need a real answer. Captain America's reply was swift, and got to the point.

"Don't worry, son. With Doctor Richard's assistance, we've been tracking the alien for almost a day and a half. Help's on the way."

"Help?" Spider-man asked, feeling like something was being kept from him, "What kind of help?"

* * *

The Emissary was taking his time as he traveled upward through the atmosphere; moving at only about fifty miles an hour. He'd made his choice, and there was no way he could have made it differently, but he wasn't in any great hurry to see that particular task finished. Try as he might, he'd gotten attached to the humans; especially the guide he'd chosen. In his childhood, the Emissary had been mortal, and his soul still burned with a mortal's passions. He lacked the immortal convictions of his master, but then, maybe that was the reason why he'd been able to do so much good in the past. On that day, however, in spite of all he'd said, the Emissary felt that what he was doing wasn't good at all. He just didn't have any alternative.

The Emissary was fully preoccupied with thoughts like that as he ascended through the air. In fact, he was so preoccupied that for a moment, he didn't notice the information that his cosmic senses were sending him. It was a brief period of distraction, but it was still more than he could afford. In just a moment, something very, very fast collided with his face with incredible force, breaking through his cosmic matter shield like tissue paper, and impacting on his armor.

For the first time since he'd gained the power cosmic, the Emissary found himself needing to lean away from the force of the blow he'd been dealt, which struck with such power and momentum that for a moment, it knocked him and his board downward through the air. By the time the Emissary was able to stop his downward descent and look back up, however, it became clear that his job was going to be even more difficult than he'd feared. There was a blond, human woman floating in mid-air just above him, wearing an outfit made of black and yellow, with a black mask, and a depiction of a yellow bolt of lightning running down her torso. It was the hero that everyone recognized as the symbol of hope for the new century, as Captain America had been for the twentieth. The Emissary recognized her from internet sites about Earth's heroes. It was the champion of mankind; Miss Marvel.

"I know what you're planning." Miss Marvel said sternly, "I can't let you do it."

"I can't attempt to protect your world, nor can you defend it by any attempt to hold me here." the Emissary said angrily, "Take up your grievances with Galactus; the Ancient One."

"This isn't just about what I want." Miss Marvel exclaimed angrily, "You've just decided that a whole planet full of people doesn't deserve to live! How can you make that kind of choice?"

"How would you have me make it?" the Emissary demanded, "Sacrifice a hundred star systems in a futile attempt to save one?"

"Don't sacrifice anyone." Miss Marvel insisted, "It's wrong."

For a moment, the Emissary looked flabbergasted and stunned, as if something about Miss Marvel's words had been completely unexpected, but he knew enough about her to understand that she, at least, seemed to have a fairly balanced world view. Still, as refreshing as her idealism might sound to other ears, the Emissary knew things that she didn't about the nature of the being who was approaching that world. The Emissary never liked to fight, but in that instance, he had no choice. If he didn't at least try to complete his mission, it might be seen as a sign of betrayal by Galactus.

The Emissary's fists tightened, and the power cosmic flared up all around him, as his determination grew. He would prove his loyalty to Galactus, and in doing so, he would save countless billions.

"Foolish child!" the Emissary exclaimed, as he rushed forward, towards Miss Marvel, his whole body once again shining with the energy of creation. In just a moment, his fist had made firm contact with her stomach. She was clearly shocked by just how much the blow had hurt.

In a flash, however, Miss Marvel seemed to have recovered, falling backwards through the air, then rising up again, and lashing out at the Emissary. However, by that point, he knew what she was planning to do. In a second, he'd blocked her first attack, lashing out with a swift kick to her side, which she, in turn, blocked with some kind of impressive martial art. The Emissary was definitely surprised by Miss Marvel's combat proficiency when faced with a being of great force, but not so surprised that he forgot his own duty, or lost his concentration again.

Blows were thrown, blocked and driven home for several seconds, like thunder in the air. The two beings fought with both speed and power that would have shattered any grown man, but in the end, only one of them could be the victor.

* * *

"Miss Marvel?" Captain America asked into his transmitter, "Miss Marvel, are you there?"

"She's not going to respond." the Mole Man replied cynically from nearby, though in that instance, it was a fairly obvious fact.

"Watch us, and coordinate efforts from the monitor room." Strange said to Captain America as he and most of the others headed for the mansion's exits, "We're going to find Miss Marvel and see if we can salvage this situation."

* * *

The Emissary frowned as he watched Miss Marvel fall towards the ground for just long enough to convince himself that she was truly defeated. It was possible that she would survive the fall, but it didn't really matter. She and everyone on her world would be dead very shortly anyway.

After only that brief fight, the Emissary traveled further and further up, away from the Earth's gravity, closer to space, where his message would be more clearly heard, and began to emit a high-frequency, organized pulse along his own power cosmic. In moments, he felt the presence of Galactus in his thoughts.

"Great Galactus..." the Emissary transmitted, "There is a star system in this galaxy that you'll find satisfying."

"Satisfying?" Galactus asked, only mildly surprised, "Transmit your data."

At once, the Emissary complied, sending all the data he'd gathered on the solar system and its contents to Galactus, except for any specific knowledge of the behavior and abilities of the human race. That data would have seemed trivial and suspicious to Galactus anyway, and it seemed that he'd learned what he'd really wanted to know without it.

Finally, the Emissary heard Galactus' reply, and for the first time since he'd come into the service of that mighty being, the Emissary thought that he noticed a hint of emotion in his master's words.

"Your findings are good, as before, my Emissary. If this data is reliable, the Solar System will sustain me for many years to come. Knowing the prize that awaits me, I have increased my speed, and will arrive shortly. When I reach the Solar System, you may leave it to undergo a new search. You have done well."

What could be said about that? Certainly, the Emissary didn't feel as if he'd done well. It had been a hard choice, and he'd made the decision that he thought would cause the least damage, but had it been right of him to make that choice? There was no telling. In spite of the conviction with which he'd made his decision, the Emissary was haunted by what he'd just done, and yet, he had to make his final reply.

"As you command, Mighty Galactus."

* * *

The Emissary sighed as he let himself drift downward slightly, back into the atmosphere of the planet Earth. His armor was capable of transforming chemical elements within his body, thus making it unnecessary for him to breathe, but he still felt some pleasure over being within a planet's atmosphere at times. Maybe it was just an old prejudice from the days when he himself had been mortal, but there was a comforting sort of feeling to being within the atmosphere of a world. Few people knew the beauty of the stars as the Emissary did; spinning around them at speeds close to that of light, then ducking in and out of the normal gravity continuum by using his power cosmic to warp relativity and travel across whole light years. The Emissary had used those abilities to navigate the fantastic universe of stars and planets in which he lived, zipping freely and easily from star to star, and he'd thrived on the level of freedom they'd given him, allowing him to move easily from one place to the next in the universe; from galaxy to galaxy. Even so, nothing ever quite felt like a haven or a home of any sort amidst the stars; not even in the depths of space, or on the massive ship of his master. It was strange and surprising, but it was the truth. In a sense, the surfer preferred to relax on a world of some kind.

Of course, he didn't travel too close to the ground, but he did manage to descend just far enough, that he was within about three thousand feet of the Earth's surface, and that was where the Emissary continued to drift through the air, waiting in miserable dread for the moment when Galactus would arrive. That would be the moment when he would have to leave that world, and everyone in that star system would die. It wasn't something that he was looking forward to, and his only consolation was that it might earn him the chance to find more uninhabited systems, and plot more courses away from the habited ones. After all, if Galactus would really be as satisfied by the Solar System, then the surfer was going to have a lot of time to plan his own next move, before any further reports were expected. That was a relief period that the Emissary had no intention of taking for granted, especially considering how bad Galactus' hunger had grown recently.

Galactus had spent a great deal of time traveling to the Milky Way after consuming the star systems that the Emissary had last recommended to him, and the distance between the two galaxies had been greater, and required more power than most trips. He wasn't in danger of dying immediately, of course. In fact, it would have taken at least another century before the lack of energy would impact his heath that badly, but the Emissary could tell that Galactus' body was already reacting to the effects of his energy withdrawal. He'd grown a lot weaker over the past few months, and his concentration was starting to lose its edge at times. Nothing was harder on him than the transition between one galaxy and the next.

However, as the Emissary thought about those things, he remembered the importance of not allowing his own focus to slip just in time to sense several organisms and flying vehicles approaching him at high speeds. Quickly, the Emissary raised his guard, as he had before. The many beings were recognizable as they got closer to him, but he was surprised to see most of them. They were the Avengers.

Namor was the first to make contact, rushing in and lashing out with his fists. The Emissary blocked his first attack, but wasn't prepared for the sharp kick that followed, and by that point, Iron Man had appeared as well, firing repelling beams at him. Soon, the air around the Emissary had started to spin and twist, as if the wind itself were attempting to throw him off balance, and the Surfer saw the Human Torch, and the Avenger called Hawkeye approaching him through the air, with Hawkeye riding a small, flying vehicle, as he took aim at the Emissary with an odd-looking arrow. In just a moment, the Human Torch started giving off bright, glaring light, though the Emissary had seen worse, and Hawkeye fired his arrow.

The moment that Hawkeye let go of his bow string, every nearby Avenger flew backwards, away from him, and the Emissary realized that something about that arrow would have been dangerous to them. Namor, in particular, seemed intent on putting distance between himself and the arrow, and although the surfer tried to move out of the way, the arrow still wound up nicking one of his shoulders, and the machine on its tip activated.

A shattering, piercing cacophony shot through the air in that moment, projected from the tiny machine on the end of the arrow. It was like a massive, ungodly screech, that filled the atmosphere, and rang through the Emissary's ears, like having a pair of cymbals clapped against the sides of his head. He wasn't sure how much of that blasted noise he could endure.

* * *

Miss Marvel had briefly lost consciousness on the way down, after her fight with the silver surfer, but that loss of consciousness had only been for a few minutes. A short while later, she'd woken on a medical bed in the Avengers Mansion, with Doctor Strange standing nearby. He had a sad, sour expression on his face, even once he'd realized that she was waking up, which didn't speak well for how things had gone.

"Plan B?" Miss Marvel asked.

Strange clearly knew what she was referring to. Plan A had been for Miss Marvel to attempt to defeat the surfer through sheer speed and strength, which had failed pretty badly. Plan B had involved an assault by the flying members of the Avengers against the surfer, in order to distract him from the sonic arrow that Hawkeye had been hoping to use to knock him out.

"The second plan only worked for about an hour." Strange replied with a dejected shake of his head, "We managed to knock him out, but as soon as he recovered, he just passed right through all our restraints."

"Why didn't you use the spell of restraining bands?" Miss Marvel asked, a little surprised, though Strange looked away sadly before replying.

"There are several reasons, but the biggest is that it hinges upon the cooperation of Cyttorak, and I've had problems with his requests in the past."

"Where's the surfer now?" Miss Marvel asked, slowly getting up.

"Still flying over New York." Strange replied, "Most of the Avengers are starting to pull back, though. I think Black Bolt is going to try to destroy him."

"So what are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Miss Marvel asked, "Just stay out of earshot and hope there's still some way to save the world when the vibrations stop?"

"Something like that." Strange admitted, the expression on his face still grave, "The fact is, there may be another threat that we need to consider. Even if we all survive this, our old enemies could very easily seize the opportunity to rush in and pick us off while we're exhausted, and don't forget that the Avengers still have one enemy we've never been able to track down before; the girl who killed Thor, Jan and Hank."

Those words drove Miss Marvel into silence for a few moments. She knew what Strange was talking about, though she'd expected most people to be supportive of their attempts to defend the world from destruction. However, there was also a meaning hidden in Strange's words. He knew something that he wasn't saying directly.

"You know where she is, don't you?" Miss Marvel asked in amazement.

"Yes." Strange replied, "While you were unconscious, someone made contact with me. Apparently, they managed to capture her a while back. The person who contacted me was the leader of the X-men."

"But what can we really do about that?" Miss Marvel asked, "Especially now?"

"We have to do something." Strange replied, "All the clues seem to point to the idea that she at least has the same powers that Thor did. Apparently, she was claiming that some stalker had come after her, and some form of writing had appeared on the wall of the cell she was being kept in. That could indicate that her imprisonment isn't sufficient, but we'll only need a minute or two to check it out. We should be able to return to the fight just in time to learn whether Black Bolt's attempt succeeded or failed."

Miss Marvel nodded a little, as she got to her feet, but she knew it wasn't really going to be that easy.

"We'll need to take somebody else with us." Miss Marvel said, "Somebody who knows their way around machines."

"I was planning on having Widow join us, if you feel comfortable with that." Strange replied.

"Alright." Miss Marvel agreed calmly. There wasn't, as far as she could tell, any reason for not feeling comfortable around Widow. After all, the two had known each other for quite a while, and were on very good terms. They weren't friends per se. Widow didn't really make friends with anyone, but they had a professional working relationship that neither of them felt bad about. Very little about Miss Marvel's relationship with Widow could have been called uncomfortable. Widow had a few reasons to feel uncomfortable herself, but she never seemed nervous about much of anything; at least not openly, and there was no point in discussing it anyway. They still had a lot to do.

Only a few moments later, Strange and Miss Marvel had met Widow in the hallway nearby, and Strange was casting another spell, to teleport them to the location of the one who'd brought the first Avengers to an end.

* * *

The surfer hadn't looked the least bit scared when he'd first escaped from the containment area that the Avengers had designed, but when his pursuers began to fall back again, he started to look warily around. Obviously, he was expecting another sonic arrow attack, but that was definitely not what he was about to face.

Soon, the silver surfer could see Black Bolt approaching from below; probably the most dangerous of the Avengers when all was said and done; traveling towards him through the air like a human cannonball. When the two of them collided with each other in mid-air, the thunderous impacts could be heard for miles.

Black Bolt knew that his punches were just as strong as the ones that the Thing or Miss Marvel might be able to deliver, but the silver surfer had defeated her. He understood that he couldn't afford to wait too long before executing his plan of attack. His attacks at that point just weren't hurting the surfer enough, and the surfer's blows were only growing stronger as the two fought. He needed to make a move, and that move would involve using one of his greatest techniques.

Backing off for just a moment, Black Bolt began to gather passing vibrations into the tuning fork embedded in his head, absorbing them and strengthening his own vibrational control, then moving all of that kinetic energy into his left fist. Finally, with one swift lunge, Black Bolt drove that fist into the surfer's midsection, and was gratified to notice that as his fist vibrated in place, delivering blow after thunderous blow at lightning speed, each one reinforcing the damage of the others, something sounded like it had broken inside the surfer's body. It was Black Bolt's Master Blow, and he'd met very few beings, in the past, who could withstand it completely. The only problem was that it drained his body almost totally of usable kinetic energy, making it difficult to generate vibrations. He wouldn't be able to perform another attack like that for a while, though being drained of kinetic energy had another advantage; it reduced the destructive range of Black Bolt's whisper to a mere twelve feet away from his body. That was part of the inhuman king's plan as well. If the Master Blow had defeated the silver surfer, then no further effort was needed, but if not; if the surfer still had the strength to fight, then Black Bolt was willing to use his voice, and they were high enough the air that nothing would be destroyed by it except the surfer himself.

For a moment, it seemed that the surfer was badly injured. His face had contorted in agony, and he was clutching what would, on a human body, have been his ribs, but after only a few seconds, he started to straighten back up, the pain fading momentarily from his face. He definitely didn't look injured anymore. In fact, the look on his face was more like anger than anything else, which was a little worrying. He'd never shown real anger in all the time that Black Bolt and the other Avengers had been fighting him.

"You can't save your world that way." the surfer spat out, enraged, "You and your people will all perish to feed Galactus. If you think that makes me happy; if you think that I can just change my mind at this point, you're fooling yourself. I've only done what I thought was best for the..."

However, in that moment, the surfer's words were cut off by the sound of the front of his board tearing itself apart, as vibrations on a microscopic level began to shake the cohesion from his molecules. Black Bolt had whispered, and that always led to destruction. The surfer could feel the strange attack tearing apart his armor and his insides with abandon, rupturing the parts of his body that contained the power cosmic, and disrupting his concentration. Black Bolt felt terrible as the surfer plummeted from the sky, the edges of his body eroding visibly as he fell, but it was still an encouraging sight. It proved that if all else failed, his power could still be used, even against cosmic beings.

However, just as Black Bolt was turning around, to return to the Avengers Mansion, he started to feel a source of massive heat approaching him from behind, and didn't even have enough time to turn around before the blast hit him.

The attack was hot, bright, and it drove into Black Bolt's back with terrible speed and force. It burned through his skin in just a second, and he could feel something in his bones and organs suffering terrible damage as well, before the heat of the blast began to fade, and Black Bolt started falling. Like the surfer, he wouldn't be hurt by a mere fall, but he wasn't certain whether the damage he'd already suffered would be enough to finish him off. The pain was growing rapidly worse, even as Black Bolt lost consciousness.

* * *

Jennifer Walters was more scared than angry as she ran towards the spot where Black Bolt and the surfer had both fallen. As physically the strongest Avenger, it was her job to try to intercept the surfer if he was grounded, but still active at any point. Fortunately, she was able to reach the spot just a few moments after they'd landed. Each had fallen relatively close to the other; Black Bolt in the front yard of a suburban house near New York, and the surfer lay in the street a short distance away. Black Bolt had a very nasty-looking injury in his back, that he was obviously losing a lot of blood through, and the surfer's whole body seemed to be in the process of tearing itself to shreds, board and all. It looked like the Avengers had won that particular victory, but at a terrible cost. Furthermore, none of them could be sure that a victory over the silver surfer was going to make any difference for the rest of the world, in the end.

Quickly, Jennifer rushed over to Black Bolt. He'd landed face-down, so his loss of blood wasn't receiving any help from gravity, but that still made it a lot harder to look the inhuman king in the face in the hopes of determining whether he was still breathing, by the motions of his nostrils. Jennifer's knowledge of medicine was legal and theoretical, but not very practical. She wasn't even sure where to feel on a person's wrist, in order to check their pulse properly, and there was no guarantee that Black Bolt's anatomy worked the same way anyways, so that knowledge might not even have done her any good.

Of course, despite Jennifer's poor practical knowledge of medicine, she knew better than to move an injured person, so she quickly pulled out her communicator, and started talking into it at once.

"B-3-5, green way She-Hulk. Come in, Iron Man."

"This is Iron Man." said a voice on the other end.

"Black Bolt and the surfer are both down, and they look really badly injured." She-Hulk explained, "What should I do?"

"Just stay where you are. I'll be right there."

Jennifer felt pretty nervous as she closed up her communicator. She was scared for Black Bolt, and what his death might mean for future relations between humans and inhumans, but her worst fears were still about the alien. What if he'd already summoned his master? He'd had plenty of time to. What if the whole world was doomed, no matter what she did? They were hard questions to answer, and unpleasant to even think about. Jennifer was feeling so edgy, that she was about ready to snap at the first sign of anything unexpected happening, and as it turned out, that tendency to overreact was exactly what Jennifer needed a moment later, when she heard the sounds of someone or something getting to it's feet behind her.

She-Hulk spun on her heel at once, to face what looked like a half-human wreck with specks of silver all over him, just barely managing to stand upright, though how he could stand at all was a mystery, since nothing about him looked complete. Over half of his necessary parts seemed to have been forcibly removed, although his body had stopped tearing itself to shreds, at least. Whatever that thing was, it looked more like a zombie covered in glitter than a man of any kind. She-Hulk was both disgusted by the sight, and scared beyond reason.

The being seemed to be trying to say something, but its mouth just wasn't complete enough to form words, so it quickly aimed one skeletal hand at a nearby telephone pole with a open-palmed gesture, and in moments, bright light shone out at the pole; enveloping it. That was when She-Hulk saw, in dismay, that the telephone pole was disappearing; the wires attached to it being left to hang just a little lower, as the wood, metal, and glass of the pole and associated street light faded away, as if some kind of acidic substance were causing it to erode. At that same time, She-Hulk could see bones, muscles, and other tissue growing all over the strange being's body; filling out and gaining size and density, as if it were adding the mass of the telephone pole to its own.

At last, the being started aiming its beams at a few small sections of the sidewalk, causing them to also disappear. With that, the figure regained its previous, healthy-looking physique, and a thin, silver-like substance started to spread all over its body from the tiny spots it had had only moments before. By the time She-Hulk reached the silver surfer, he'd regained his previous health and appearance completely, making her feel that much more helpless, as she clamped her arms around his shoulders from behind.

The surfer let out a distracted gasp as She-Hulk seized him, and spent several moments struggling to break free. However, she was growing so angry with him by that point, that none of his struggles meant a thing. As strong as he was, she was stronger.

"Give it up." She-Hulk said after a few moments, "You can't beat my strength, no matter what kind of energy you're powered by."

For a few seconds, the surfer continued to writhe, until he seemed to have realized the truth of her words, and relaxed a little.

"Yes." he admitted, "Your strength exceeds that of any mortal creature I've ever met. I hadn't realized that such creatures could exist with this level of brute force. You're most surprising."

However, as the surfer spoke, Jennifer Walters suddenly found herself getting extremely tired, making it difficult to hold onto her anger, and as her exhaustion grew, she gradually realized that it was, in fact, the surfer who was causing it.

Furious, but helpless against her own building fatigue, Jennifer fell backwards into the street with a crash, as the surfer started aiming his beams at other, nearby sections of road and sidewalk, absorbing the energy that made the matter solid, until it was sufficient to completely regenerate the remainder of his body, armor, and at last, his board, which the surfer caused, in one final motion, to fade into existence at his feet. Regeneration, it seemed, was his final defense from even the most damaging attacks. He just needed energy to do it.

In the pivotal moment when he'd been exposed to Black Bolt's voice, the surfer had realized that he was in danger, and started using his remaining power cosmic to regenerate his vital areas as fast as he could. The result was that while his entire original body had been destroyed by the attack, firing one last blast of energy on the way down, a new body had been partially built for him while he'd been falling, containing his full memory and knowledge, self-sufficiency, and enough resilience to survive the collision with the ground, as well as small bits of his armor, with which to rebuild the rest of his body, when he got a chance to start absorbing fresh energy from the matter around him. In all the time that the surfer had traveled through the cosmos, he'd only needed to use that level of regeneration twice before, because very few things could truly penetrate his armor.

Again and again, the people of Earth were showing the Emissary that their champions were just as tough as their internet fans thought, and just as dedicated and clever too. In spite of the unnatural power the Earthlings possessed, there was something endearing about their continual struggles against him, as if doing so would in some way save their world from destruction. Then again, there was the possibility that the humans knew their fight against Galactus was hopeless, and just wanted him to pay for his victory by killing his Emissary before he could leave, or some such thing. Barbarians often thought about things that way. There was nothing rational, civilized, or calculating about it, but like the determination to fight on for survival, there were things about it that were endearing. In spite of how close to death he'd recently been brought, the surfer felt just as sad as ever over the impending, inevitable fate of planet Earth.

Regardless of that sadness, however, the Surfer managed to get back onto his board, and start flying upward again, just as Iron Man arrived on the scene, horrified by the injuries that had been caused to his teammates.

* * *

Even as another flash of light deposited three people into the area just outside of her cell, Anna knew that she couldn't move. She barely even had enough will to recognize the people. One of them was graying slightly, and had a mustache, and a red cloak, held in place with a large, metal eye that was, at the time, closed. The second was a red-haired woman, dressed all in black. The third was perhaps the most recognizable of all the modern superhumans. She had a black mask, long, blond hair, and a large lightning bolt symbol along the front of her uniform. Two of the beings were obviously Doctor Strange and Miss Marvel, though Anna had never seen the third before.

"Widow." Strange said in a commanding tone, "Look over their security measures. Are they good enough to hold her?"

The woman who apparently referred to herself as Widow spent only a couple of seconds examining the machines, before she nodded.

"There are about four people in the world who could set up a better containment system than this one. Two are Avengers, and the other two are Doctor Richards, and Doom."

"What about the message on the wall?" Strange asked curiously. Widow seemed to have barely even glanced at it, but she already had a full evaluation ready.

"It wasn't written by anything solid. Those words were burned into the wall by some kind of explosion of high-friction energy."

"High-friction?" Miss Marvel asked, confused, "Wait a minute. Wouldn't that melt the metal too?"

"Part of it is melted." Widow replied, "However, in this instance, friction within the wall was accelerated to the point where the wall itself burst open in small areas. That's how the words were created. Obviously, we're dealing with someone who can create intense friction in the air, and even inside of objects."

"Now the question becomes; who could do that?" Strange said, looking distracted, as he thought it over.

"Again, it's a short list." Widow replied, "Most of them are Avengers. Yourself, the Human Torch... Namor might be able to, if he were to really get creative. Any of the technological experts we work with could probably have rigged something up; Doom, Richards, Iron Man, Mole Man, myself..."

"Ah... Ah could've done it."

At once, all three Avengers, who'd paid so little direct attention to Anna up to that point, turned to face her as one. They all seemed surprised that she'd spoken up at all. After all, they knew who she was, and she must have known who they were. Even so, she was trying to help them. It caught them off guard.

"You?" Strange asked, "How?"

"Ah just have to create atmospheric friction inside the tiny air pockets in the wall." Anna said, though she was still too exhausted to get up, "Problem is, ah couldn't do it while ah'm drugged, so it couldn't have been me."

"You have the power to create atmospheric friction?" Miss Marvel asked, astonished.

"Ah get the powahs of everybody ah touch..." Anna said miserably, "All of 'em. Ah get their powahs, their thoughts, their memories... Everything."

The moment that Widow heard that, her eyes widened, and she turned to face Strange quickly.

"I know who's responsible for this," Widow said, "but don't make snap judgments about this girl. She might not be as great a danger as she's been in the past."

"What?" Strange asked, barely able to believe what Widow was saying, "Widow, this girl killed three members of the Avengers. She has to face justice for what she did."

"Right," Widow replied, "but don't try to attack her. I think she's already facing justice for what she's done, and we can't afford to devote too much manpower to her at the moment, anyway."

Strange glanced at Widow once, then at Anna, then back at Widow, but her answer clearly hadn't satisfied him. Miss Marvel, though, seemed a little more satisfied by Widow's answer, even if she didn't understand all the reasoning behind it.

"What is it, Widow?" Miss Marvel asked, seemingly determined to get to the heart of the matter, "How's she facing justice?"

Widow looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if struggling to come up with an answer to that question, but at last, she said, "Aside from the fact that she's started to feel guilty over her crimes, real justice is what happens when each person gets exactly what they deserve. Because of that, it's very difficult and rare for a murder case to result in a just outcome."

There was no reply to that for several seconds, but at last, Strange had started to look very confused, and a question finally escaped his lips; a question he couldn't hold in anymore.

"I'm not following you." Strange said, "What are you suggesting, exactly?"

"I'm suggesting that you don't try to punish her until this investigation is complete." Widow replied, "We don't have enough information about her stalker to make snap judgments. If it's who I think it is... We can't afford to make assumptions, though."

Widow's reply hadn't satisfied Strange or Miss Marvel, but she clearly wasn't going to explain herself any further, so Strange started moving his hands into a number of new gestures, causing Widow to vanish again. A moment later, Strange had placed one hand on his forehead, and closed his eyes, then opened them again. That was when he and Miss Marvel also disappeared, leaving Anna to wonder what they had planned for her, and what, exactly, they were trying to accomplish, that was demanding so much of their time.

* * *

Miss Marvel, Widow, and Strange returned from the central base of the X-men, materializing in the medical center, which was definitely not the best place to be at the moment. Iron Man was desperately trying to mend the wounds that had been suffered by the king of the inhumans, who was laid out on one bed, while She-Hulk; apparently just exhausted, dominated another. Doctor Strange's mouth fell open at the sight, horrified by what it signified.

"Iron Man..." Strange asked quietly after a moment, "What happened?"

"He got away." Iron Man replied, "Black Bolt's injured, and She-Hulk's exhausted. I didn't take much time to look her over, but if you want to help out, you can try to figure out what happened to her with that eye pendant of yours."

The sight, though unfortunate, was all that Miss Marvel needed to see to convince her not to go charging right after the surfer just yet. Both Black Bolt and She-Hulk were physically capable of doing more damage, and summoning more power than her, and they'd both failed, just like she had. Clearly, they needed to rethink their strategy.

However, it was just as clear that Widow wasn't, at the moment, thinking about the battle strategy, or about anything that the silver surfer had done or said since he'd arrived. There was a mystery in her head; the mystery of who was stalking the killer of the original Avengers, and it suddenly occurred to her that there were at least two possible culprits who she hadn't mentioned while she'd been at the X-men's base.

"I think the silver surfer may have had the power needed to burn that message into the containment chamber wall," Widow admitted aloud, as she and Miss Marvel left the medical area together, "but I doubt he's responsible. According to her, she's been stalked for over a week. The surfer has been on Earth for only a few days. Besides, he has no interest in Anna. It doesn't add up."

"So who do you think is responsible?" Miss Marvel asked.

"That's what I'm hoping to uncover." Widow replied quickly, "There is one last suspect that I can think of. I'm almost certain it was him. I can't prove it, of course, but I'll want to confront him about it anyway, and under the circumstances, I'd prefer if you were there as well."

"Alright." Miss Marvel agreed casually, "I'll come along. I just hope all this doesn't wind up being a useless waste of time."

* * *

Miss Marvel didn't recognize the address that Widow had guided her towards. The two had gotten there by the swiftest available method short of teleporting; Miss Marvel had flown there, carrying Widow. The flight wasn't long, or particularly difficult, but the place that they'd found themselves at didn't look like a stalker's home at all; just an ordinary house on the outskirts of the city. Miss Marvel wasn't sure what to expect as Widow looked up and down the house from various sides, listening carefully near the doors and windows until she seemed satisfied. It was only then that she bothered with saying anything to Miss Marvel at all.

"I'm glad you were able to get us here so quickly, Carol." Widow said, "That was very helpful, and on some level, I also appreciate your support in a difficult time like this, but your presence here might not be of any further use. If I'm right about this, and it comes to a fight, even your strength and speed won't mean anything against his, and if I'm wrong, and he has no supernatural powers, then your power won't be needed to subdue him. I could accomplish that myself. Do you know what I'm trying to say?"

Miss Marvel nodded, though she showed no sign of returning to the Avengers' headquarters at the moment.

"It's pretty obvious that you're trying to get rid of me," Miss Marvel admitted, "but at this point, you've piqued my curiosity. I can't just go back, until I find out more about your theory. Who lives here? How could he do all that amazing stuff? What's his problem with Anna?"

"If I'm right," Widow said, "he wants Anna to feel fear, and then die at his hands, just as he did at hers."

"What?" Miss Marvel asked in amazement, "You don't mean...? Are you seriously thinking...?"

Instead of responding, Widow removed a small device from her belt, and slid it into the nearest lock. In just a second, the lock clicked, and Widow flung the door open, revealing a short hallway that led directly into several adjacent rooms. Miss Marvel just followed in bewilderment, as Widow lead the way into the house, and silently opened the door to the back room, where Doctor Donald Blake was resting on a sofa.

For a few seconds, the three just looked at each other. No one spoke.

"What's going on?" Don asked as he got to his feet, "Miss Marvel? What are you doing in my house? Who's your friend?"

However, even as he asked those questions, he could see the look of sad sheepishness in Miss Marvel's eyes, and realized that it wasn't her doing. The other woman was the one behind the break-in, and she was determined and angry-looking, as she got closer to him. There was something she wanted from him.

"Can I... uh... help you, miss...?" Don started to say, but Widow just glared at him angrily.

"You can drop the act, Mister Blake. I know what you're involved in, and apart from the fact that you're endangering the whole world by continuing this meaningless little game of cat and mouse, I don't see how you can take an active role in murdering someone; even if they've wronged you in the past."

Doctor Blake's eyes widened, and as they did, Widow's narrowed. She'd been absolutely right in her assessment of the situation. There wasn't any doubt anymore. All that was left was to learn the specifics, and put an end to Blake's escapades.

"How long have you been tailing Anna?" Widow asked angrily, "How long have you had your powers, and kept it from the other Avengers?"

However, Blake didn't respond. In a flash, he held out one hand to the side, and a thick, wood and metal hammer had seemed to hurl itself from halfway across the room into his grasp. Widow backed off just a little when he did that, afraid of what was about to happen; having never witnessed Blake's transformation before. In just a second, though, he'd stamped the hammer against the floor, and his whole body was transforming, in a vast burst of electrical energy. Only a short time later, a large, long-haired warrior in Norse armor stood before them, looking furious over having been found out.

"None can stop this now." Thor said in the purest wrath, "The power of the god of thunder is mine alone to wield. Meddle not in the affairs of gods, little one, for they are quick to anger, and impossible to deny."

With those sharp words, Thor moved forward a single step, and then suddenly, as far as Widow could tell, he'd just disappeared.

"Gone." Widow muttered, doing her best not to sound upset by the fresh development, "He's probably already headed for the Xavier Institute. Damn."

Miss Marvel, of course, had seen Thor disappear as well, but her own speed was great enough that she'd recognized the vague blur as he'd brushed past her. Widow's eyes hadn't been quick enough to follow Thor as he'd made his move, but it seemed that her mind had been. In just a moment, she turned to face Miss Marvel again, new plans already brewing in her thoughts.

"We still have one chance. I'm not sure how Captain America managed to penetrate all that pomposity, but if he did it once, he might be able to do it again. I need you to call Iron Man. See if he has any ideas. We should also call Doctor Strange. If we move fast, we might be able to beat Thor to the Institute."

Miss Marvel wasn't sure what to say. After what she'd just seen, the situation looked about as bad as ever, and her head was full of questions, but she soon decided that it would probably be best to just nod and do what she could, so in a moment, she and Widow had both pulled out their communicators.

* * *

When Anna woke up, it was still very early. In fact, the sun hadn't even come up. It was probably something like two in the morning, but she'd been woken by the sound of a loud thumping noise in her room.

Though she was still feeling groggy, and emotionally-overwhelmed, Anna struggled to sit up in bed, and see what the problem was. There, she saw the most shocking and astonishing thing that she'd seen in months.

Anna's window was letting warm air into her room, having been opened noiselessly during the night, and there were two figures standing in the darkness of her room. Both were tall, and one seemed to have grabbed the other from behind. However, the one in front was wearing an expensive-looking suit, while the other was holding what appeared to be a large hammer made of wood and metal.

More than one thing about that situation worried Anna. The suit looked just like a hundred other expensive suits of its type worldwide, but the hammer was quite unique, and it was very familiar to Anna, though she couldn't make out the faces of either man distinctly.

"Fool!" she heard one man exclaim, "You've woken her!"

"Bite thy tongue." Another voice replied, and in moments, the two had moved with speed that rivaled Anna's own, shooting back out through the window together. In under a second, Anna had begun using her own powers again, rushing to the window with as much speed as she could summon. Once there, however, she could see that the man in the suit seemed to be disintegrating, or rather, transforming. From his posture, he looked mainly furious, and badly disappointed by the turn that things had taken, but even so, his whole body seemed to be changing into a cloud of bats, that started to fly away from the institute grounds.

By that point, the other figure was looking away from Anna, but despite the lack of sunlight, she could see enough of him to understand what was going on, and all of her muscles tensed up in preparation for the fight that she was definitely about to be forced into. The man standing there on the institute lawn was dressed in large armor, to match his powerful build. There was a helmet on his head, and a long, brown cloak hung from his armor at the shoulders. In his right hand, he held a powerful-looking hammer, and his hair was long and blond. Anna wasn't sure how it was possible, but she knew who the new arrival was, even before he turned to face her. It was Thor; the Norse god of thunder.

For a few moments, Anna was speechless, though she herself flew out through the window, to meet with the thunder god. She could see that he was watching her warily, as any true warrior would, and yet, when she descended to the ground, he didn't seem tense. In fact, he looked very relaxed, which probably meant that he wasn't afraid of her, and wanted her to see him at his best.

For nearly fifteen seconds, the two circled each other on the lawn of the Institute. Thor obviously expected Anna to say something, but Anna didn't know what to say. Finally, Thor seemed to be getting bored with the silence, and spoke up.

"Thou dost wish to know how I survived our encounter." Thor said aloud.

"You didn't survive." Anna said, a little anger rising in her, though she was mainly just worried as she spoke, "Ah absorbed you completely. Nobody ah do that to survives. Even now, ah've still got your powahs, your thoughts, your memories, and philosophies..."

"To kill a god is not so easy a thing." Thor replied, his expression becoming stern, "A god is not made up of merely flesh and blood, nor was my presence in this body dependent upon the power that thou didst steal."

Anna made no sign of wanting to hear Thor's explanation, but he started to explain nonetheless.

"My power is bestowed upon mortal beings who are worthy, through this hammer," Thor explained, "but my true essence, at present, is within the hammer, as a force of great energy. When thou didst conquer me by treachery and deceit, the body that was a manifestation of my powers was drained away under thy touch, and my true force was badly diminished as well. It has taken a great deal of time to replenish it, and re-establish my physical form. My restoration was completed a mere month ago, and almost at once, I decided to take back what was mine; to remove thee from the world, so that once again, I might be the only bearer of the power of Thor; its true owner."

"You were the one that knocked me right outta the sky," Anna realized aloud, "and you wrote that message on the wall near mah cell. Were you the one who broke into mah room a while back too?"

"Nay." Thor replied, "My first intrusion into thy quarters was tonight. I think, perhaps, that the fiend who I've recently chased from thy room has been following thee for a long time, though it makes no difference now."

"No." Anna replied, looking at the ground for a moment, "Ah guess not."

Thor could hear a motor vehicle approaching the Institute from a ways away, but aside from that, there was nothing to interfere with his next move, and Anna's glance at the ground had afforded him the ideal opportunity to strike.

Digging one foot into the ground, Thor shot forward, swinging his hammer with a level of speed and power that few other living beings could duplicate. Anna caught Thor's attack square in the chin, and her whole neck was thrown into massive discomfort, as the force of the blow knocked her backwards across the institute grounds. However, in a sense, the pain had done her more good than harm, because it had woken her up to what was really happening to her, and what she was doing wrong.

Before Thor had appeared, Anna had been consumed by guilt and sorrow, and she'd lost most of her willpower while she was surrounded by that grief, but when Thor had begun his attack, her baser instincts had started to kick in; the same instincts on which Thor himself depended. Anna quickly realized the danger that she was in, and straightened up in mid-air, hoping that she could react in time to block Thor's next attack. She may not have been Thor himself, but she'd felt the spirit of a warrior inside of her, ever since she'd absorbed his powers, and no true warrior could just lay down and die when faced with a strong opponent.

Quickly, Thor charged to the attack again, striking Anna in the stomach with his hammer; refusing to let up, but as he did so, Anna had seized a joint in his armor with one hand, and swung the other around into his face. She could feel her fist straining to maintain its force, and to stay in one piece when she made that punch, but it was obvious that Thor had felt her attack. As strong as he was, her strength was precisely the same, and there were, she realized, other advantages that she could count on in a fight against him.

As fast as she could, Anna swung one leg around, in the hopes of knocking Thor back, while he was still disoriented by her punch, but he recovered too quickly for her, blocking her kick, and knocking her further up into the air, with a vicious backhanded assault.

As Thor and Anna fought, each sped up, increasing both the speed and force of their blows, and the height at which they flew. The fight grew more intense with every moment. Each blow was like thunder itself, and the two combatants rose further and further into the air, neither willing to give in to the other. Anna was starting to show a strong resolve at that point, although if Thor saw that resolve in her, he gave no sign of noticing it. Anna had determined not to try to absorb Thor's powers again. Whether she won or lost, she was going to do it through her effort; not by stealing from her enemy, like she had before. She was going to win or lose with the honor of a warrior.

At last, however, Anna started to increase in size and mass, as she called upon the power of Henry Pym. She continued flying through the air with enormous speed, trading earth-shaking blows with Thor, but at a hundred feet tall, she was in a much better position to endure his attacks. In fact, she was starting to feel them more as low-level nudges, than genuine punches and kicks, and although she was still hurting, and still having trouble fighting Thor, she'd definitely gained the upper hand. The entire thing was immensely exciting. Hank's ability to become a giant was one that she'd never needed to use before, and she wasn't used to aiming for very small targets with her fists. That, of course, was how it felt to her at the time. She'd grown a great deal larger than Thor, but that really only made him seem smaller and harder to hit.

After each struggled for a while against the other in that manner, however, Anna swung one fist at Thor, and found, to her surprise, that he seemed to have vanished. In moments, she heard his voice from directly behind her, and he sounded more disappointed than furious.

"Thou hast done me honor in showing me thy full powers, and in abstaining from petty tricks, like the kind that thou didst use to fell me two years ago. I salute thee for doing me that honor."

"Ah didn't want to trick you anymore, Thor." Anna replied sadly, "Ah don't want to hurt anybody anymore, and ah especially don't want to kill anyone. Ah've killed folks before, but ah don't want to live like that anymore."

"After today," Thor replied, "thou shalt never live that way again. Thy honor has been commendable. Continue to display it, and I shall grant thee the great honor of a warrior's death in battle, and the greater honor of seeing the true power of the thunder god."

"True powah?" Anna asked, confused, "Ah've got all your powahs."

"Nay." Thor replied, "Did I not tell thee that a god is more than mere flesh and blood? In turn, the power that thou didst take from my body was great, but only the true Thor of Asgard possesses the soul of a god. Within that soul, other powers are concealed. Now, witness them, and die with honor, and I shall hold a ceremony in thy name. In the eyes of my people, thou shalt have been redeemed by that, and we may meet again in Valhalla."

Anna didn't like the sound of that very much. It was probably still the human desire to live, that remained a part of her, in spite of all she'd done, but still, even if Thor wasn't bluffing, Anna knew that she couldn't cheat, and try to trick Thor again, or remove her gloves, and try to absorb his power a second time. The combined honor of three founding Avengers had become a part of her, and she couldn't ignore it anymore. She had to hold herself up to a code of conduct; of principle. Anna couldn't attempt to atone for her sins, unless she was willing to honor the memories of those she'd killed. All that was left of Janet, Hank, and Anna's father was a part of her, and she needed to do what they would have done in her situation; she needed to defend herself fairly.

However, the power that Thor was using was pretty terrifying. Although Anna couldn't see Thor at that point, she had the distinct feeling that there was something very large nearby, even by her standards; something much bigger than her, in fact. After only a moment had passed, Anna saw the storm clouds gathering in the air, and realized with dread that her own dominion over the weather was slipping. Thor was regaining control over his domain, and in another second, she heard a voice so loud, that it seemed to shake the sky. She recognized it quickly as the voice of Thor, but it was so much louder and more commanding, that she was shaken to her very bones by it.

"Stop what thou art doing and look up. Face the god of thunder and be judged."

In spite of herself, Anna found that she was indeed looking upward, into the rapidly-gathering clouds. The rain poured down onto her face, and then, as lightning flashed across the sky, Anna caught the glimpse of a monstrous figure; at least ten times her own size. It rose up into the clouds, and it was definitely Thor.

Thor had said that his true powers were a manifestation of his immortal soul. If that were true, then it seemed unlikely that the vision Anna had just seen was accurate. If Thor could have transformed into a giant, he would probably have kept pace with her own increase in size. Undoubtedly, what he'd just shown her was an illusion; a trick to attempt to convince her that he was much larger and more threatening than he actually was. The problem was that as much as she tried to tell herself that it was just an illusion, Anna still felt her body shaking with every new sign of Thor that emerged; every word spoken with such volume and conviction; every image of a monstrously-powerful being that was placed before her. She was in helpless awe of Thor, and would have been, even if he'd had no other powers at all. Whether he was a genuine god of thunder or not, his soul was proving to be stronger than hers, and it was shaking her resolve.

"Think not" the image said, "that thy size is truly an advantage."

When she heard those words, Anna felt an extremely hard blow come down on the small of her back. She wasn't sure how Thor had managed such a powerful attack. Maybe he'd used his hammer to turn the electrical energy of the storm into kinetic force, but however he'd done it, Thor's attack had hurt her physically, just as his loud announcements were hurting her spiritually and emotionally. In moments, her size was decreasing again. She just couldn't keep it up. She'd been struggling with her guilt before, and with Thor striking right at the heart of her self-esteem, she couldn't keep up the fight. He'd been right. She couldn't have won against him. It was over for her.

As Anna's will abandoned her once again, she found herself plummeting to the ground. She needed concentration to remain airborne. Whatever Thor was doing, it was robbing her of all her feelings of hope; feelings that had become much too rare already, thanks to her recent revelation about her past crimes. Without hope, she couldn't concentrate, and without concentration, she was headed for the ground, picking up speed fast.

Anna knew that the impact with the ground wouldn't hurt her much. The only thing nearby that could do real damage to her was Thor himself, and since she'd lost the will to fight back, she was helpless against him. Anna closed both eyes in resignation. A moment later, a sharp, powerful impact hit her right in the stomach, and she blacked out.

* * *

A strange mixture of feelings passed through Thor as he stood on the grounds of the Xavier Institute, having driven his hammer into Anna's stomach from underneath. Because she'd possessed all of his strength, she'd been a very powerful opponent. He truly had needed to use his full abilities to defeat her. At the same time, her existence was an obscenity, not only to Thor himself, but to the Wasp, to Giant Man, and to anyone else that Anna had killed. She made a mockery out of life and death, and Thor knew that he had to put an end to that mockery.

The problem was that although Thor knew what he had to do, he wasn't feeling quite as furious with Anna any longer. He reminded himself of the underhanded trick that she'd used to ambush him, to murder two members of his team, and to nearly do the same to him. He reminded himself of the great wickedness that she'd used his powers for, and yet, the thirst for her blood was fading from his feelings. When he looked at her, lying on the ground at his feet, he was starting to see something more than a perversion of everything he was, and everything he believed in. He was looking at the warrior that she'd become; the fighter who attacked her enemies with her full power, but refused to resort to treachery. Thor knew that he had to finish her, for the sake of those she'd killed, but having seen the kind of person she'd become, his own rage towards her had diminished.

"Thou hast grown to become an honorable warrior." Thor muttered, as he stood over Anna's unconscious body, though he knew she couldn't hear him, "Perhaps thou shalt be forgiven for thy treachery in the halls of my father."

With that, Thor raised his hammer into the air, feeling it crackle with electricity. No foe, he realized, had ever brought him so close to true death, but to honor the memory of his comrades, he needed to finish her.

However, just as Thor was about to bring his hammer down on Anna's head, he heard another voice from behind him; a voice he recognized.

"I won't try to stop you, Thor, but do you really think that's what Jan and Hank would want?"

Thor had sensed that someone was approaching him, but he was still surprised by the number of people who'd gathered so nearby. He was just as surprised that he had, for the most part, failed to notice them, however. He could see that Doctor Strange was there, and Iron Man, in a type of armor that Thor had never seen before. There was also a short, shaggy-looking man, who seemed to have approached the group from the mansion. A bald man in a wheelchair was also gradually getting closer from the mansion's front door. However, none of them had asked Thor the question he'd just heard.

The one who'd spoken to Thor was a figure who'd stepped forth from amidst the others. He was dressed in red, white, and blue, and he had a disc-shaped shield slung over one arm.

"Captain." Thor said, looking stunned for a moment, "Is it not what thou wouldst want, in their place?"

"I may not believe in everything America's done over the last sixty years, but I still believe in the American dream." Captain America said only a few seconds later, "Maybe that doesn't mean as much if you've been around longer than America has, but it's a big thing to me. One of the things we always believed in was that people deserve the right to a fair trial. It's one of our most basic laws. I know Jan and Hank respected the law in that regard. They wouldn't have wanted you to become an executioner in their names, just like I wouldn't want you to be one for me."

"This girl killed our comrades!" Thor exclaimed, looking lost and abandoned, but Captain America just sighed.

"Yes, she did," he said, "and she's going to stand trial for that, but there are more important things than how a person dies. I have to admit; for a while, I was driven by the memory of how our friends died, and that was a mistake. I should have paid less attention to how they died, and more to how they lived. Janet Van Dyne was a social being, who found joy in works of art, and creative thinking. Hank Pym was a scientist who preferred to spend his time doing research, rather than fighting. Even so, they both recognized the need for good people to take direct action whenever something threatened the innocent; not for revenge, but for protection. If I honor the way that they lived, I have to follow their example, but killing Anna won't bring them back."

"There are things which thou hast not considered." Thor replied, lowing his hammer for a moment, "No matter what sentence this girl receives, she will survive it. From me, she gained an agelessness, which shall last for millennia; perhaps even until the universe itself ends. Further imprisonment may feel like punishment to her at first, but years are something that she can now afford to lose. How can she be made to suffer as I have suffered; as thou hast suffered? How can she be made to feel the pain of loss?"

"She doesn't need your help to feel pain."

Those words had come from the bald man in the wheelchair, who'd finally reached the scene. He didn't look afraid, in spite of how many powerful people surrounded him, however. In fact, he seemed mainly sad, as if sharing in Anna's misfortune at that very moment.

"Just recently," the bald man said, "Anna Marie came to grips with her guilt over the murders that she committed. Since then, her mind has been full of disturbing thoughts. She remembers all the pain and misery that her victims experienced in the moments before they died, and I can't think of anything that could more efficiently remind someone of their guilt in a murder. In fact, I'm sure that there are only a few worse punishments for a crime. If you're afraid that Anna might not be suffering sufficiently for what she did, I think that I can lay those fears to rest."

Thor looked frustrated and annoyed, but he looped the strap of his hammer around his wrist again, clearly intending not to strike out with it anytime soon.

"I feel badly cheated." Thor muttered, "By right, her deeds against me entitle me to her life. Thy ways may have been well-respected by the Wasp, by Giant Man, and by thyself, Captain America, but to me, they make little sense. Out of honor to my fallen comrades, I shall respect their wishes, but I do not believe I shall ever agree with them."

"I'm glad that's settled." Doctor Strange remarked, finally taking a deep breath in relief, "We need to get back to New York. We can't afford to stay here long."

"Why?" Logan asked, not having heard anything about what had happened to make the Avengers so busy.

"From the looks of things," Strange replied, "the world might be coming to an end. Some kind of being surfaced in New York recently, who has some unbelievable powers. I've never seen anything like them. He says he's made the Earth's most pivotal judgment, and he may already have summoned some destructive cosmic being, even more powerful than himself. He's already done a great deal of damage, and we haven't been able to stop him."

"Then my assistance is needed." Thor said, straightening up, with the look of a veteran soldier who'd just been called to battle.

Captain America nodded, saying "It's good to have you back, old friend."

However, as Strange was starting to make the gestures needed to establish a portal back into New York, there was the sound of dirt being scraped aside, and an exhausted, shaky female voice said "wait."

Strange stopped what he was doing in that moment, and all eyes turned to gaze in the direction of the voice. Somehow, Anna had already recovered somewhat from the pounding she'd taken just moments earlier, and was scrambling to get back upright, though it was obvious that she was still very woozy and disoriented. Even so, the time she'd spent drugged, sorrowful, and learning to cope with a warrior's spirit dwelling inside of her had given her the strength that she needed to face her exhaustion and misery. Some might have said that she was growing up for the first time in her life; learning to face reality like an adult, but Thor could see what was really happening. Anna was becoming more than just an adult; she was becoming a warrior.

"Sounds like... Sounds like..." Anna gasped as loud as she could, while scrambling to her feet, "Sounds like y'all need mah help."

No one there was certain that they liked the idea, but they didn't snap at her either, giving her a moment to explain herself.

"Look, you said there's a guy in New York who might be able to end the world somehow..." Anna tried to explain, "Suppose you're right, and he pulls it off, because ah didn't help out. Nobody's gonna be helped by that, and if things don't work out, it might be mah last chance to do the right thing for once. You gotta let me in on this. Ah know it's what Jan and Hank would want. They'd want their powahs used to help folks."

"If you try to betray us," Doctor Strange said, after considering the matter for only a few moments, "it won't help you at all. As long as you remember that, I don't see any reason why you can't help us out in this one mission. Is that a problem for anyone else?"

Most of the people gathered remained silent when that question was asked. It was only Iron Man who spoke up.

"We need all the help we can get right now." Iron Man said a little nervously, "It doesn't make me happy, but it's better than dying."

"Aye," Thor concurred, looking at Anna warily, "but if this crisis can be averted, we promise thee no reward in exchange."

"Ah don't want one." Anna said, and indeed, she didn't seem to have any obvious ulterior motive, to judge by her facial expression, which was very despondent.

Nodding once, Strange spread his hands out again, in another sequence of mystical gestures, and in moments, most of the people in that yard had vanished, leaving only Logan and the professor behind.

* * *

It had been hours since any of Earth's champions had made any attempt to attack the surfer, and the night sky had already unfolded before him; a sight he knew all too well. It was his life; his path to travel. To roam the stars was his greatest joy, though his duty was a dark one at times. The surfer looked up into those stars, and was pleased by them. They made him feel a little better about his lot in life, and even about the terrible deed that he'd done. Though he'd come to dislike mankind as a whole, their loss was still a tragedy, and one that he was most eager to put behind him.

What, the surfer wondered, was the time by human reckoning? Two in the morning? Maybe two-fifteen at most. The surfer paid the question only a second of thought. Galactus had said that he would arrive soon, and his sense of honor was as inhuman as everything else about him. Galactus never broke his word. For him, the word 'soon' meant 'before the world-ship can give a single rotation,' which was about the equivalent of a day and a half of Earth-time, at the very most.

Even for Galactus, space was a vast distance, and growing more so with each passing day, becoming more and more chaotic as it moved. It took time and energy to travel the stars; particularly since conveying the intergalactic power of the cosmos was such a difficult task. Over the eons, Galactus had explored the limits of science and technology, and had reached the extent of what they were capable of, but the challenge of maintaining the cosmic balance was as difficult as ever.

The surfer thought about that for a few moments, wondering if that was why Galactus had chosen to appoint an emissary to journey out into the cosmos and find star systems fit to be devoured. He never would have presumed to make such an assumption when he'd first begun working with Galactus, but it was seeming more likely as he thought it over.

However, as the surfer allowed his thoughts to drift for a moment, there was a sound nearby, as if the atmosphere around him was changing. He looked towards the noise sadly, because he knew it meant a fresh onslaught of attacks, but the kind of attack that sprang forth from the rapidly-forming portal that had appeared to one side of him was far beyond what he'd been expecting. One of the attackers was a girl named Anna, who apparently had the full powers of the original Avengers. The other was an Avenger who, previously, everyone had thought was dead. It was Thor; the Norse god of thunder.

In only a moment, both had rushed forward through the air, and struck the surfer simultaneously. As they hit him, he could feel electric energy dancing through his armor, yet he wasn't able to absorb it as he usually did. Some stronger being's will was keeping its energy out of his reach.

The surfer started to fall backwards for a moment, but his enemies were as strong and swift as he was, and they were lashing out with a ferocity and eagerness that shook his very soul to its core. The sight terrified the surfer; those barbaric creatures, wielding such power, with so much fervor in a desperate, futile attempt to purchase their own survival. Something about the sight shook the surfer's convictions for a moment, and in that moment, both Thor and Anna spoke together, in voices that sounded almost identical.

"Thou art strong and fast, but thou art no warrior!"

Then, each seized him by one arm, and he could feel the electric charge rushing through his body again, picking at the power cosmic within him, like a hoard of angry crows gobbling up corn from a field. It was painful and upsetting, but the experience was as emotional as it was physical, and when the two beings let the surfer fall to the ground again, beaten, he had no real desire to get up. He'd made his decision to doom the Earth, in exchange for the ability to save countless other star systems from Galactus, and although it was a barbaric sort of response, the Earthlings were making sure that he would never get that chance. The trust of Galactus would mean nothing when he was dead, and the beings gathered there did have the power to kill him. Doctor Strange was nearby, as well as Thor, Anna, and Miss Marvel. They had all the muscle they needed to destroy him. In their eyes, there was no greater or lesser good. There was only good or evil, and they couldn't have said more directly that they thought his actions had been evil. The human race had been doomed by the silver surfer, and they were determined not to let him doom anyone else.

"This is the end of it." the surfer realized silently, "I'm no longer the Emissary of Galactus. I'm no one that important, and my final act was to doom a habitable planet, and fight for my life against its people. There's no justifying this."

It was true, of course. The surfer had been doing his job for so long, that he'd never considered the possibility that he might just die one day. He'd been planning for a future that he wasn't guaranteed to have, and a whole world had been cost its life in the process. Suddenly, his struggle to nobly choose the lesser evil had become a futile one. His plans had fallen apart, which was a worse punishment for him than simple death. He was about to die, of course, but worse yet, the planet Earth would die for nothing. It was such a terrible thought that the surfer started to cry.

For a moment, both Anna and Thor stopped where they were, when they saw the real, wet tears emerging from the surfer's silver-colored eyes. Anna wasn't sure what to think when she saw that mighty being crying like that, but Thor clearly knew what he wanted to think of the Silver Surfer.

"No sort of warrior at all." Thor said, just as the surfer was struggling to rise to his feet again, though his board lay motionless on the ground.

"No." the surfer said, as loud as he could without using his power cosmic, though there was pain still ringing in his head, which he was just too sad to even try to heal, "I'm no warrior, even though my power is great. I'm just an emissary, or at least, I was. I'm sure you'll kill me in a few moments, and your world's death will have meant nothing. I despise what you humans have done to your world, and to one another, but I wouldn't have wished such a meaningless end on you."

"Buffoon." Thor muttered, "The end of a man's life hath meaning only to the one who takes it. To the man who dies, there is no meaning. To others, who know nothing of the dying man, there is no meaning. Only to the warrior who takes a man's life is there meaning, because only the warrior finds glory in the kill, especially in battle with a worthy and renowned foe. That is the truth of life and death. Make of it what thou will. The people who thou hast killed will not thank thee for it, nor will the inhabitants of any other land. It is thy responsibility to find meaning in the death that thou hast caused. That is the way of the warrior."

"I don't want to be a warrior!" the surfer exclaimed angrily, looking at Thor with absolute contempt.

"Yet thou dost refuse to live in peace." Thor rebuked him, "Thou dost take the lives of..."

"I've never killed anyone!" the surfer exclaimed angrily, but by then, clouds were starting to fill the night sky.

"Indeed thou hast!" the voice of Thor echoed through the clouds, drowning out the surfer's voice completely, and even, from the looks of things, scaring him a little, "Thy path through the cosmos has been written in blood, armored one. Think not that thy actions have gone unnoticed in the halls of my father Odin. His domain is not an Earthly one alone. For many centuries have I known of the world devourer Galactus, and for many centuries have I known of thee. Thy place in the service of Galactus was unenviable, but thou couldst have left it at any moment, and suffered no repercussions. Why didst thou stay?"

"I don't expect you to understand, barbarian." the surfer replied in loathing, "I did it for the greater good."

"Greater good?" Thor asked, sounding amused by the notion, "There is no such thing as a greater good. In this universe, there doth exist good, and there doth exist evil. Good doth not divide itself into greater and lesser portions. Thy centuries of bloodshed are founded on lies."

"So if a hundred planets die, that's not a more terrible evil than one planet dying?" the surfer demanded to know, "Can you honestly tell me that the life of one planet isn't a fair price to pay for the salvation of hundreds?"

"Thou art treating death as if it were a business." Thor replied in contempt, "Death is a very different sort of thing than gold. It repeats itself, multiplies itself, spawns hurt and misery, and at times, the glory of victory is also born out of that. When a man kills, he must recognize and honor such things. The deaths of mortals, and of planets cannot be traded so easily for one another. In matters of death, no compromise is acceptable; no half-victory reasonable. There is no dishonor in attempting and failing to protect others, but to actively take the side of the enemy in the hopes of saving more lives is different. There is no honor in that. To be knocked off thy feet is honorable. To step aside willingly is not. I say this not as one who knows the people of the Earth well, but merely as a warrior and a sentient being. Thy choices up to this point have been made in error."

"Then I really am a fool." the surfer replied, "I've felt compassion for all living things. I was taught that by the people of my own homeworld, a long time ago. Even so, I allowed myself to think that it was my duty to protect as many people as possible."

"Tis a man's duty not to compromise himself or his honor, and to never participate in something that he knows to be wrong." Thor replied, "All other duties are secondary."

"You may be right," the surfer admitted, "Maybe I can't really stop what Galactus is doing, and maybe minimizing the damage isn't enough... It's a lot to take in. If you don't intend to kill me, I may need some time to think this over before Galactus arrives."

"It may be too late for that." Thor replied sadly, a moment later, as he looked up into the sky, and sure enough, as the surfer started to focus his attention upward, he could feel what Thor was referring to. There was a presence there; just beyond the clouds that were swiftly dissipating from above New York City. With a final flash of lightning, the clouds were broken through, and the shape that emerged through them was unlike anything that the people of that city, or indeed, the people of planet Earth had ever seen before. It was early in the morning; almost three A.M. Eastern time, but people all over the world were being woken up by those who were awake, and soon, everyone on Earth was looking up at the sight that surrounded the Earth, and dominated the sky.

Cold metal and bright beams of light shone down onto every city on Earth. People who only barely believed in God started praying, and even people who didn't believe in the divine were trembling in their shoes at the sight. Then, all over the world, the same voice was heard, echoing through the sky like thunder.

"This is the final day of the planet which these beings call Earth. It will be marked in my records as such."

* * *

To be continued...


	26. Issue 26: Galactus

Tales From the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 26

"Galactus"

* * *

At the moment when the ship of Galactus had appeared in the sky all over the world, the Avengers had been divided into two groups. She-Hulk, Thor, Doctor Strange, Anna, and Black Bolt; who was still recovering from his injuries, but wouldn't listen to the advice that he should remain in bed, met in the hopes of planning an effective battle strategy. The others, with the exception of the Human Torch, had the job of trying to keep the people of planet Earth from tearing themselves to shreds over what they'd just seen. Miss Marvel had been charged with the unenviable task of trying to convince the military not to make any kind of ill-fated attack against the intergalactic ship that had suddenly surrounded planet Earth almost completely.

Doctor Doom had been contacted about the problem, and he'd responded rather graciously by saying that he was working on a device to harness the power of a cosmic force like that, but he lacked a containment unit large enough for the power cosmic of Galactus.

Naturally, the Fantastic Four were drawing up plans of their own, trying to use their machines to send Galactus some kind of message. They were the only ones who had real, prior experience with his technology, so it wasn't unreasonable to let them do their own thing.

* * *

Crystal and Namor didn't arrived at the meeting place. In fact, no one knew where they'd gone since the first attack against the surfer a while back, which was a bad sign. Still, Strange knew that he couldn't afford to waste any time, as he approached the surfer with a solemn look in his eyes.

"How can we fix this?" Strange asked gravely, "How do we stop Galactus?"

"You can't." the surfer said, looking just as sad, "It's impossible. The only way to keep Galactus from destroying this world now is to receive his solemn oath that he'll do you no harm, and he doesn't listen to the pleas of mortals."

"There must be some way to force him back." Strange insisted, "I mean, we eventually defeated you. Maybe if we all work together, we can overcome him as well."

"No! No! No!" the surfer exclaimed in absolute terror, "You don't know what you're talking about! This isn't an enemy that you can overcome. This is Galactus. Even if all the mortals in the universe joined forces to slay him, they'd still fail. I don't even compare to him."

"It can't be hopeless." Strange insisted, "There must be something we can do."

"You competed with me and won." the surfer replied, "Don't assume that you can compete with Galactus. You might be able to slow him down a little, but there is no overcoming him. To even think about doing such a thing is pure, unfounded arrogance."

"So in order to survive, we need to appeal to him somehow, and slow him down in the meantime." Strange confirmed, "What's Galactus planning? How does he absorb the energy of a world?"

The surfer still looked very scared for several moments, but at last, decided that nothing would be made any worse by telling the Earthlings what he knew.

"Galactus is capable of absorbing all the energy of a world on his own, but the process is slow and wasteful. In order to ensure that he receives the full energy of the world, Galactus has built many machines to expedite and refine the process. His first move will be to assemble them, and it may take something like three hours before he's ready to do that."

"Would we be able to destroy those machines?" Strange asked, at which point, the surfer's expression of fear started to fade a bit.

"Yes." the surfer replied, "In fact, that's your greatest opportunity to buy yourselves time. Destroy his machines once, and he'll lash out at you, then he'll take some extra time to repair them. However, trying to destroy the machines again would be a wasted effort."

"Why?" Strange asked, confused, "Does he have some way to protect them if they've been damaged before?"

"Not exactly," the surfer replied, "but, in the past, when species have attempted to destroy his machines a second time, he's merely used his power to drain away all the life-energy of the world without his machines. If he becomes desperate enough to do that, everyone on this world will perish."

"So we have, at most, a few hours to find some way to dissuade him or drive him back." Strange realized aloud, thinking hard about the situation for a few moments, "I'd prefer to trust someone else with that responsibility. Maybe the Fantastic Four could manage it. I'll make contact with them in just a moment..."

* * *

"Stop that! Put that down!" Spider-man exclaimed, foiling yet another attempt at looting, "Hey! Get over here!"

Peter was an emotional and mental wreck. It was discouraging how, after all the time he'd spend trying to protect and defend mankind, both as Spider-man, and, more recently, as Peter Parker, human beings still seemed determined to give him such a hard time. Granted, he hadn't managed to convince the silver surfer of mankind's worth, but he'd definitely done his best. Was it, he thought, really necessary for people to act like such jerks when something spooked them?

For a few seconds, Peter even considered giving up on his fellow man, and just going home. Crowd control duty was proving to be impossible, given the almost-certain doom that was hovering overhead, and it might just be a meaningless effort anyway. Still, Peter remembered his Uncle Ben, and that memory was enough to drive him on. The danger of someone dying was even greater than ever, and he couldn't let that happen if there was some way of preventing it.

However, Peter had enough troubles at the time that he wouldn't have welcomed more, and that was, from the looks of things, just what he was about to get. The Sandman, Doctor Octopus, and the Green Goblin were moving down the street, seizing people roughly as they went. What really surprised Spider-man, though, was that when the Goblin spotted him, he seemed to pause in the air, and just stand on his board, hovering in place, and staring directly at Spider-man. Then, in just a moment, the Goblin removed a bomb from the pouch that hung from his hip, and pressed a small stud on top of it, speaking in a voice that was obviously being amplified by some kind of machine.

"If this bomb goes off, it will decimate a whole block in each direction. Of course, if you all return to your homes and stay there, I'll simply disarm it and put it away, but then... I don't expect you to be that smart."

However, sure enough, the Goblin's tactic seemed to be working. People were starting to back away, and leave the items they'd looted where they were. Spider-man was amazed, and a little dismayed by how effective the Goblin had been at accomplishing the very thing that Spider-man had been trying to do. A moment later, as people started to leave the area, the Goblin descended through the air towards Spider-man, looking him intently in the eyes.

"There's something we need to talk about." the Goblin said somberly, though of course, Spider-man expected it to basically be a trick. In the end, he couldn't think of any reason for fighting the Goblin instead of talking to him; at least no reason that made sense.

"So talk." Spider-man replied, but the Goblin shook his head.

"This is something that you wouldn't want discussed in public." the Goblin said sternly, "It won't take long, but we need to settle this."

Of course, when the Green Goblin had said that, Peter felt more worried than ever, but at least it meant that if the Goblin decided to attack Spider-man, none of his supervillain pals would be around to help him out. Quickly, Spider-man followed the Goblin as he opened a nearby door and led his enemy inside, closing it once they'd both entered the large factory production room on the other side of that door, where all of the machinery had been turned off, leaving the place vacant and silent.

"So what's the deal?" Spider-man asked, "All of a sudden, you're on our side?"

"In life, there are no sides." the Goblin replied, "Each person must do what is in their best interests, and I know that whatever's going on, it's bad for everyone. I just need you to tell me that this situation is as terrible as it looks. Is there a danger that the world might be coming to an end?"

Spider-man hesitated for a moment, not sure he should tell the Goblin anything, but there wasn't anything to be gained by keeping secrets anymore. Quickly, Spider-man nodded, and he could see that the Goblin was carefully taking the information in. Of course, lots of people were obsessed with the concept of the end of the world, but when one was actually faced with the real possibility that the world was ending, it was hard to accept. The Goblin must have been a very clear-headed sort of lunatic, to be willing to assimilate that information so quickly.

"The end of the world..." the Goblin muttered in simple curiosity for a moment, "So, what do you need from us?"

"Sorry?" Spider-man asked, amazed by what he was hearing.

"Where do we need to deploy our forces?" the Goblin asked again, "There's no room for empty pride anymore. We must preserve our existence. Where are we needed?"

"I'm not even sure we can trust you." Spider-man exclaimed, though the Goblin was looking meaner as listened to those words, "I'm pretty sure the Avengers won't feel too great about working with your people."

"They'll get used to the idea once you explain to them how important it is to trust us." the Goblin said.

"How can I convince them to trust you?" Spider-man asked with a slight chuckle, in spite of the grim nature of the situation, "I don't trust you."

"You should." the Goblin replied, "After all, Peter, I've kept your greatest secret this long."

Once again, Spider-man shuddered when he heard those words, and once again, he was deathly afraid. The Green Goblin was one of the worst enemies the Avengers had. If he knew Spider-man's identity, there was no telling what he planned to do with that knowledge.

"Are you saying you're not going to tell anyone?" Spider-man asked, a little hope gradually returning to his voice.

"I'm saying no such thing." the Goblin replied, "However, at present, I have nothing to gain by revealing your secret. I've known for months, and never told anyone, because this secret is only valuable to me while it remains a secret. It's especially valuable now, when your assistance will enable our forces to work together, and perhaps even save this entire world. I need your cooperation, Spider-man. I can't do much to threaten you at this point, with the world so close to its end. All I ask is that you trust me."

Normally, Spider-man might have made a joke of some kind about that, but it was a worse situation than usual, and it deserved a genuine response. For him, the two worst possible eventualities were losing his secret identity, and losing the people he cared about. Suddenly, it looked like both might happen in one day. When it came down to it, however, Spider-man knew that he couldn't trust the Green Goblin for one reason above all others.

"You're the one holding all the cards here." Spider-man said sadly, after thinking about it for a few moments, "Maybe I could help you out. Maybe I could be your advocate, but not right now. Right now, I feel like you're dictating to me; like you're trying to stick me over a barrel and manipulate me. I just don't think I can deal with that."

Once again, there was silence for a few more seconds, and then the Goblin shrugged for a moment, sounding surprisingly casual when he spoke again.

"What do you want me to say, Spider-man?"

That was the real question. After all of that, what could the Green Goblin say that would make it all up to Spider-man? What could he do to earn Spider-man's trust? Peter didn't want to turn him away, just because he was a criminal. He knew that the Goblin's past actions were terrible, but so was the current situation. It was a time when, Peter knew, he and the Goblin should have been putting aside their differences, and working together against a common enemy. It sounded good in theory, but the situation still felt woefully uneven. When he thought about it like that, however, Peter realized precisely what the Goblin had to do, to earn his trust.

"Alright." Spider-man said, after rolling the issue over in his head for several seconds, "If you really want me to trust you, you can't just tell me that you know my identity. You have to prove that you trust me too."

"What did you have in mind?" the Goblin asked casually.

"I want you to tell me your real name." Spider-man replied, "Then we'll be even, and we can work together."

"Even, eh?" the Goblin asked, sounding curious as he thought it over, "Not just even. The truth is, Peter, I'm someone you know very well; someone who's spent hours and hours in the same building with you in your secret identity, and never taken action against you directly. Once you've seen who I really am, I hope that you'll realize that, and learn to trust me."

As he said that, however, the Goblin simply reached for his mask, and pulled it right off without hesitation. In just a second, Spider-man had started to stumble backwards, realizing all at once that his new knowledge of the Goblin's real identity had given him far less power than he'd thought.

"I am the Green Goblin." said the man who'd previously been hidden behind the mask, "Norman Osborne."

"But... But why?" Peter asked, horrified and confused as he braced one arm against the wall behind him, "I don't understand... Mister Osborne... Why would you do this?"

"That isn't obvious?" Osborne asked in surprise, as he put the mask back on, "All this time we've spent talking; all the meetings we've had about Harry's progress, and you never realized what kind of man I was?"

"I thought I did." Spider-man replied, still obviously shocked, "But I don't see why you'd do all this. I mean, your son..."

"That's one mistake you've always made about me, Spider-man." Osborne replied, "You keep assuming that Harry Osborne means the world to me."

"I guess I really don't understand you at all." Spider-man admitted, "You mean you really don't care about the people in your own life?"

"People?" Osborne asked, with a sort of derisive sound in his voice, "What people? What good are people if you can't buy them or sell them?"

"I dunno." Spider-man replied, hoping to draw Osborne back to reality with humor, "They make nice decoration, I guess."

"Hardly." Osborne replied in a scornful tone of voice, "Listen, Spider-man. I'm not like you. You're naïve, because you haven't needed to face the reality of the world outside your house. I'm an entrepreneur; a conqueror. I see things I want, I work hard, and I acquire them. That's my nature as a human being. I'm a strong man, Spider-man. I'm a driven man. I seize businesses, secrets, companies... Power, Spider-man. Worlds to conquer. That's the kind of life I live, and have always lived since I was just a little boy."

"Like Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Charlemagne, Napoleon Bonaparte... They saw opportunities for power, and seized them. I'm not really so different from them in spirit, although my territory, until recently, was made of business deals and mergers. I've always viewed myself as a conqueror, Spider-man, and because of that, I've always viewed my son as a disappointment. Not only did he have no talent at all in his father's business, but he refused to even accept such a great and glorious throne. He was so determined to live his own kind of life, that he refused a chance I never got, and it wasn't simple pride. That I would have understood."

"Maybe he just didn't feel right, because you'd hurt so many people on the way up." Spider-man suggested, surprised by how easy it was becoming to talk to the Green Goblin. However, it seemed for a moment that the Goblin was finding the situation far more humorous than he was.

"There's no barrier between us anymore, is there?" the Goblin asked in amazement, "I could argue with you all day, and neither one of us would try to kill the other. You know that you can trust me to do what's truly best under the circumstances."

Spider-man didn't reply to that for several more seconds, but it was mostly because he didn't want to. At last, when he did reply, it was with a feeling of terrible dread, as if he were signing up for a mission that he was afraid would lead him to nothing but misery.

"Alright, Osborne. If you want my help convincing the Avengers that you're on our side for this one battle, you've got it. I promise."

"I told you before." Osborne replied in frustration, "There are no..."

"Yes." Spider-man interrupted him, however, before he could finish, "There are sides, including the most important ones; good and evil. Somewhere along the line, it seems like you missed those, Osborne. I can't do anything to change that, and right now, it doesn't really matter. What matters is that for the moment, I know you won't stab me in the back. That's all I need to know to be able to work with you, but I'm sure not planning on spending any more time working with you than I have to. You're one of the most evil men I've ever met."

"Now that you've promised to be my advocate, grow up." the Goblin said, a slightly angry tone establishing itself in his voice, "You think you're the only person who has to work with people who believe in totally different things than they do? People all over America have to put up with that, Spider-man."

"Yes." Spider-man replied, "People like you make that necessary; the ruthless business tycoons who push everyone so hard, that all the joy drains away. I can't just let that go."

"So long as it doesn't interfere while we're resolving this crisis, I don't care." the Goblin replied, "Besides, to be blunt, we've wasted enough time on discussion already."

"Yeah..." Spider-man muttered, as he opened the door they'd entered the building through, and pulled out his communicator, not feeling good at all about the task ahead of him.

* * *

Crystal's life had been very confusing for the last few months. Though she'd originally left her place among the inhumans, partly because of her love for the Human Torch, she was starting to realize that there were others in the world, who she cared for just as much, and in different ways. As much as Crystal cared about him, Johnny Storm had never really been her confidant in any reliable sense. He just didn't seem to look at her that way. There was a sense of detachment between Johnny and Crystal that he didn't have around other people. It was hard to explain, but it was definitely there.

By contrast, Namor was almost the precise opposite. His normal behavior came across as aloof and detached with virtually everyone, and yet, there were times when he was with Crystal, when it seemed like she was one of the few people he trusted to advise him. For several weeks, Crystal had tried to convince herself that she was imagining things, or at best, that Namor's feelings were being influenced by his memory of the incident at Doom's castle, when Crystal had saved his life. However, there was a closeness developing between her and Namor that hadn't existed with the Human Torch. It was, Crystal knew, something that she'd have to bring up to him eventually, and she could only hope that Reed would let her keep the uniform he'd made for her when she finally decided to break the news to Johnny.

In the shadow of the massive, interstellar ship that Galactus had used to reach Earth, Crystal hadn't found it the least bit surprising that Namor had approached her, and asked for her council. However, he'd insisted on total privacy, carrying her through the air, to the hills several miles from New York, out of sight of the big city, and its teeming masses of people. It was only there that Namor dared to even suggest a course of action.

"Crystal..." Namor said, when the two were alone on the hillside, the moment ruined by the sight of the vast, metal fortress overhead, "You know the power that I possess; the invincibility that I wield, and the one weakness that it has. I believe that if I'd been able to maintain contact with water, I could have defeated the Emissary of Galactus, or even Galactus himself. If it comes to a fight with him, I may be the only hope of mankind, and I can't fight him alone. You have the power to move and shape water, among other things. I think you know what I'm suggesting. Together, we can be greater than the sum of our powers alone. If you use your powers to adhere water to my skin directly, I could fight for hours with the might of a titan. It may be our only chance."

However, Crystal was looking very sad, as Namor suggested that, because she had to give him bad news in that respect.

"The problem is, I wouldn't be able to keep it up for hours." Crystal said, "Controlling enough water to keep you at full strength isn't easy, especially while you're moving. Sure, I could control a few drops of water for hours, but not a whole bucketful, and that's how much you'd need."

For a few moments, the Submariner just looked dumbfounded, then a little irritated, and finally, all such emotions faded from his face, and he just looked blankly at Crystal for several seconds. When he finally spoke, there was almost no feeling in his voice, and the emotional distance that had suddenly materialized between them would have broken Crystal's heart if she hadn't been terrified of what he was saying.

"What more must I do, Crystal? Haven't I proven myself to you? Have I given you any sign that I might react badly to your other special power? All this time, you've kept the secret of your greatest power from us all. Can't you just trust me? Can't you trust us all to just accept you, no matter what strange powers you have?"

"Namor..." Crystal said, though it was tearing her apart inside, to continue keeping the secret from him, "What are you saying? What other special power?"

Namor scowled very angrily as Crystal said that, but he knew that he had to explain himself.

* * *

"Emissary!" the voice of Galactus exclaimed, echoing through the sky, "You're late in reporting to me. Meet with me in the midst of the place called New York City. Sense my power cosmic and follow it. There's still much work to be done. This is Galactus sending you this message."

However, several more minutes passed, and it seemed that Galactus hadn't made contact with the surfer yet, because his voice, all over the world, shouted new words.

"Where is my Emissary? Emissary, if you don't show yourself, I'll assume that you've died. I can't afford to delay the absorbing process much longer."

* * *

Ben Yarmouth trembled in his shoes as the figure seized him by the front of his coat. It was wearing large, thick boots, jeans, and a leather jacket, and Ben was starting to sweat, because of the intense heat that was radiating from its head. The head of the figure looked just like a fanged skull, surrounded by flames. Ben, understandably, was terrified.

"You've salted your soul with darkness." the figure with the burning skull said, as he lifted Ben right off his feet, "That will make you much more delicious."

"No! No!" Ben screamed, "No, please! Don't! It's the end of the world! Anybody would have done the same thing. Please, have mercy!"

"Oh, dear." the skull-faced individual said with a sneer, "Seems you've mistaken me for someone else."

"No!" Ben shouted, "God help me!"

For a moment, the demonic biker looked back and forth across the street, then shrugged.

"Nope." he said, "Nothing. Guess he got tired of you crapping all over his holy name, and decided to leave you to your fate. Can't say I blame him. I'd have devoured all the wicked humans a long, long time ago."

As he said that, the fiery figure slammed Ben against the nearest wall, and Ben could feel a terrible, jarring pain in his abs. Worse yet, the monster in front of him was opening his mouth, and inside, there was a black void. There, from within that mouth came a horrifying sound, independent of the motions of the skull-creature's jaw.

"Look into the darkness, Benjamin Yarmouth, to see the fate that awaits you at the end of the world."

Just a few seconds later, Ben was left to fall to the ground; a total wreck of the man he'd once been. The sights he'd just seen had changed him forever, and he knew that he could never go back to crime again.

"I'll change." Ben muttered miserably as he sat on the pavement, "I swear, I'll change."

"Well, you'd better do it quickly." the skull-headed being replied, looking back up at the sky again, and the large, metal ship that dominated it, "You might not have much time left."

A moment later, the demonic-looking figure reached his motorcycle, which he'd left nearby. The moment he mounted it, its wheels started to blaze with a fire of their own, and he was just about to drive off in search of sinners again, when he heard a voice from nearby.

"That was very merciful."

At once, the demonic rider turned around, to face the being who'd addressed him; a mere human, from the looks of things, but he was dressed in a pitch black outfit that closely resembled a classical depiction of a daemon.

"Well, nobody's perfect." the rider replied.

"On the contrary," Daredevil said somberly, "We could really use your help, especially now. I've read about the things you've done in the past; how the press calls you the Ghost Rider. I know that what you do isn't really all that different from what I do, and what the Avengers do. If you're willing to help us, we might have a better chance to save the planet Earth."

"Help you?" Ghost Rider asked, a little surprised by the notion, "The being who threatens this world is of cosmic origin. I can show him the nature of his own sins, but my powers wouldn't mean much against the very power of the universe itself. Perhaps I will assist you, but not yet. When Galactus shows himself, I may have my chance."

Then, in just a second more, Ghost Rider started up his motorbike, and was off down the street, leaving a trail of flames along the pavement. Despite what had been said, however, Daredevil had a feeling that he'd just won a major victory.

* * *

Doctor Strange felt swamped. The Earth was being threatened by a cosmic entity, there was a difficult time limit on their hands, and the wealth of options for how to defend the world seemed boundless, yet none of them were guaranteed to succeed. The X-men had arrived, apparently with a strong force to devote to the fight against Galactus, if it came to that, Spider-man had managed to earn the allegiance of the Green Goblin and his men during the crisis, and they were helping to manage the crowd control problems that the Avengers had been struggling with, but Strange still wasn't sure what plan to make use of. Four or five different plans had been brought before him, and he couldn't decide between them all. An hour had already passed.

However, just then, the silver surfer seemed to have realized something that hadn't occurred to him before.

"There's one other possibility," the surfer suggested, "though I didn't think of it until just recently. It's very unlikely, but there's a chance that it might work."

"What is it?" Strange asked, surprised by the sudden note of hope in the surfer's voice.

"Galactus' ship has many powerful weapons; some even capable of decimating this entire star system." the surfer replied, "If you could reach the control room of the world ship, you could threaten to destroy the solar system with those weapons."

Strange didn't like the sound of that, but he had a feeling that the surfer was going somewhere with that suggestion, so he calmly asked "How does that help us?"

"If Galactus believes that you would rather destroy your own world, than allow him to absorb its energy, he might agree to leave you in peace." the surfer replied. However, at that point, his hopeful tone of voice started to fall away again.

"However, there are two major obstacles to carrying out that plan." the surfer added sadly, "The first is that the bridge of the world ship resides in a pocket dimension only loosely connected to our own. Only Galactus, or another being possessing deep, cosmic awareness can enter or leave that place."

That was certainly a harsh limitation, and it would undoubtedly be hard to find someone like that, Strange realized, but he had a feeling that it wasn't the worst part.

"What's the second major obstacle?" Strange asked.

"The second obstacle is that even if the world ship's weapons destroyed this entire star system, Galactus himself would remain unharmed." the surfer replied, "Because of that, he won't react based on any personal fear, and that means that he'll need to be completely convinced of your willingness to destroy yourselves. You'll have to show him that you really are that barbaric."

"Great." Strange muttered as he thought the problem over in his head. He only had a few moments to weigh all the options and design a plan, and he knew that there was only one way he could make that decision.

In just a second, Strange had established telepathic contact with the one person who he knew he most needed the advice of; Captain America.

"Captain America?" Strange asked, "Can you hear me?"

"Go ahead." Cap replied.

* * *

In moments, a plan had been formed; one that made use of every option at the disposal of Earth's defenders. No possibility was going to be overlooked, because the very survival of planet Earth most likely depended on them. The first step, of course, would be a peaceful one. If there was a chance to coexist peacefully with Galactus, that option would have to be explored, and there was no one better to explore it, it was decided, than Doctor Richards; whose great intelligence and peaceful spirit might give him a better chance at communicating with the world-devourer.

Within a few hours of the enormous ship's arrival, a section of it opened above New York City, and a brilliant, shining light began to emerge through that humongous hatch. In seconds, the Fantastic Four had landed their short-range Fantasticar on a building nearby, and they were as ready as they could possibly be when the shining light from the hatch began to resolve itself into a figure; a figure that... Well, there was no describing it. It defied all concepts of physical recognition.

The entity's size was relatively obvious; no less than a hundred feet high, and there could be no denying that it was surrounded by light, but for a few moments, nothing else about it was evident or solid. It was nebulous; unrecognizable. One moment, it seemed to be a biped; in another, a quadruped. A second later, it seemed almost slime-like, and yet, it never resolved itself into any of those shapes for good. It was, in that moment, large and powerful, and not completely anything else. It was truly Galactus, and no other words could be used to describe it.

However, mortal eyes aren't meant to behold such conceptual factors without any frame of reference. Their minds can find no way to grasp the essence of a mere fragment of existence itself, so they fabricate images for their eyes to see; images to represent the jarring things they can't understand or accept. The Fantastic Four found themselves blinking several times in the light that shone from the extraterrestrial being, and in between those blinks, an image began to resolve itself; an image of a figure very much like them, but huge and mighty, glowing all over.

At last, all of New York City looked up and saw the image of the mighty Galactus, as far as their mere, human brains could grasp him. He was, as expected, a hundred feet tall, but apart from that, he seemed roughly human-looking, except for his aura of bright light, which shone all around him, making it hard to look directly at him. He was enormous and well-muscled, wearing thin clothes, and at regular points on his body, large devices were attached; implanted, as if into his very flesh. Galactus had become a true master of his technology, to the point where he could control it by mere thoughts, and there was no longer anything to separate it from him. He'd made his technology and his ship a true part of himself. It acted just as he did.

Slowly, Galactus had descended into New York, as if gravity itself meant nothing to him. The look on his face was cold and dispassionate, and yet, sharp and calculating, like the look of an old soldier who dislikes his mission, and yet, is still clever enough to develop new plans for its success. He also had a fearsome look in his eyes; a fire only found in the faces of the most seasoned veterans. It was a look that no one can fake; which only those who've seen many horrors possess. For several moments, Reed Richards didn't dare to say a word as Galactus' feet touched down on the ground, forcing cars to screech to a halt to avoid him. He was looking around carefully, though he seemed not to be paying any attention to the humans on the ground below.

"This is Galactus; the Ancient One, my Emissary." the huge being said, in a voice that still seemed to echo through the air, across the whole world, "I'm here in New York City, and you aren't. I warn you to delay no longer, or you may be among those who are absorbed. Your helpfulness can't be overstated, but I won't tolerate disobedience."

For a moment, Galactus seemed to pause, as if waiting for some kind of response, and that, Reed decided, was the ideal time to attempt to make contact. Quickly, Reed turned on the microphone in the Fantasticar, and in a few seconds, his voice echoed through New York City, loud enough to be heard by anyone there, including Galactus.

"Galactus, this is Reed Richards; a scientist of planet Earth. We wish you no harm, and we don't want to make any claims on your ship, your technology, or anything else that belongs to you. However, this planet; Earth, is vital to our survival. We must ask you not to damage it in any fashion, or to harm any of us."

However, Galactus seemed not to have been listening to Reed's words. At the very least, he didn't react to them as if they mattered in any way. Just as the silver surfer had said, Galactus was responding to the humans of planet Earth with disinterest, and nothing else.

"Respond, my Emissary." Galactus said again, and for a few moments, he seemed to be listening carefully, clearly expecting some kind of reply, though he didn't receive it.

"Galactus." Reed tried again, "We know who you are, and what you need to sustain the balance of the universe. However, we won't willingly surrender our lives to support that balance, and there must be other star systems within a few light years that don't contain intelligent life. Surely, there's a solution that will solve both of our problems."

However, once again, Galactus said nothing in reply. He appeared to be frustrated, but if he'd noticed Doctor Richards, he gave no sign of it. Reed was starting to become incensed by the ancient being's refusal to respond, but he could tell that Ben Grimm was even angrier. In spite of his dislike of his own appearance, Ben was a proud sort of man, and nothing upset him quite like being ignored.

"Hey, you space-hopping beanstalk!" Ben exclaimed angrily into the microphone, before Reed could stop him, "My pal just said something to ya! You just gonna stand around all day acting deaf?"

However, Galactus didn't respond to that either, looking mildly disappointed at best, as if Ben Grimm and his insults didn't even exist on any scale that mattered. After taking only a few seconds to consider the situation, Reed turned the microphone off, and started to move the Fantasticar up, away from the cosmic giant who'd landed in the midst of the city. As they moved away, however, Ben was fuming with rage.

"What is this, stretch? All the power we got, and we ain't stickin' around to take on that King Kong wannabe?"

"Believe me, Ben, I know how you feel." Reed said sadly, "We should have our chance to be part of that phase of the plan, but for the moment, we have to retreat. If we fly off the handle and attack him right now, and he turns out to be too much for us, the whole world might die because of that. I care too much about our planet and its people, Ben. I won't risk it. We'll stick to the plan for now."

Ben was still grumbling discontentedly as the Fantasticar returned to the Baxter Building, but he understood what Reed was saying. He knew he had to go along with the plan.

* * *

Doctor Strange sighed as he received Reed Richards' report on the first stage of the plan. It had been a complete failure, as expected. Galactus hadn't listened. A peaceful resolution wasn't possible anymore. The next stage of the plan would involve a brief assault, and when that assault was finished, Galactus would have to face something that he couldn't just ignore.

However, as Strange was sending out his next instructions telepathically, he received an urgent reply from Miss Marvel.

"Strange..." Miss Marvel said, "There's a problem."

"Tell me about it." Strange replied a little sarcastically, but Miss Marvel responded to that very quickly.

"No. This isn't Galactus I'm talking about. The US Government isn't listening to me anymore. They've seen the footage of Galactus, and the air force is already launching a strike team."

"A strike team?" Strange asked, horrified by the news, "What kind of strike team are we talking about here?"

"F-22 Raptors." Miss Marvel replied, "I'm not even sure how many. Between five and fifteen."

Strange felt somewhat betrayed. He'd hoped that the military would have the good sense to keep their distance during that particular crisis, but it seemed that they were destined to participate in the fight, no matter how little chance they had. Miss Marvel could out-fly any fighter jet ever made, and she hadn't even been a match for the surfer, much less Galactus himself. It was a harsh situation, but Strange knew what had to be done.

"If you stop the planes yourself, it'll just upset the government, and we do need to engage Galactus somehow before executing the second stage of the plan." Strange communicated to Miss Marvel telepathically, "I want you to follow the planes as they make their approach, but keep your distance from Galactus. If it looks like he's about to destroy the planes, rescue as many of the pilots as you can."

"Alright." Miss Marvel replied, though it was obvious that she was still feeling pretty bad about the whole situation.

* * *

Captain Porter could barely believe what he was seeing as he got closer to New York. Right there, in the midst of the buildings, was a huge figure; some hundred feet high, and covered in some kind of weird technology. It was certainly a lot different from anything that he'd ever seen before in his life, and he felt like shaking in his shoes. Somehow, they'd have to lure that monstrous guy away from the buildings and towards the open sea. That was the only way that Porter could think of, to take him down without damaging the surrounding buildings.

"Okay; Odon, Bruin, Sawyer; I want you to start circling overhead in the established formation." Porter said into his radio, "If he starts going after the buildings, don't hesitate to hit him with the Hot Potatoes."

The Hot Potato, of course, was a new type of missile, designed to maintain a controlled heat source within a small area for a maximum duration, while doing almost no damage outside of a twenty-foot radius from the point of impact. They'd been judged essential for doing maximum damage to a target, while leaving the rest of the nearby area completely intact, which was a situation they might just have to face, if the newly-arrived Galactus proved to be unreasonable.

None of the pilots questioned the orders as they took up their positions around the city, above the buildings. Galactus wasn't a hard target to spot, but the real question was whether they could get his attention.

Quickly, the pilots divided into separate formations, one group circling Galactus over the level of New York's skyline, while a second group maintained a relatively static position near the outskirts of the city. There were eight jets in all, three in the first group, and five in the second, and if they couldn't get the job done, no man or aircraft could. For several seconds, the planes waited where they were, and Galactus himself seemed to not even have noticed them. He was just standing and waiting, and Porter was starting to get tired of it.

"Alright." Porter said into his radio a moment later, "Let's not waste any more time or fuel. Smoke him out."

In just a second, the three planes that had been circling overhead opened small compartments near the edges of their main bodies and dropped a rain of small pellets from those compartments, which started to disintegrate even as they fell towards the New York skyline, leaving behind a thick layer of smoke over the area where Galactus was. It was a harmless move, but there was a chance that it might get his attention.

Sure enough, a moment later, the shining figure in the midst of the smoke seemed to be moving. He was taking a few steps forward, and all of the pilots there knew what that meant. He was going to collide with the buildings.

"The big guy's going for the buildings!" Porter exclaimed into the radio, "Sawyer; light him up!"

In a moment, Sawyer had fired his missiles directly into the cloud, towards the shining light that could still be seen there. Only a second later, there was an even brighter flash of light from within the cloud, and in moments, the shining figure of Galactus emerged from that dense cloud of smoke, completely unharmed, and moving closer to the coast. However, what was really scary was the way that he moved. Instead of walking, he was floating. Instead of crashing through buildings like Godzilla, he was passing through them like a phantom as he headed in their direction. As Galactus started to hover over the harbor, Porter knew that that was the moment to attack. Galactus was clear of the city, and the worst damage he might cause by falling backward would have been a little flooding.

At once, Porter and the other four fighters in his group shot off their Hot Potatoes, watching with gratified smiles as each one of the missiles charged towards its intended target. However, when those missiles were within twenty-five feet of the giant from space, a bright flash shot out from his eyes; as bright as the sun itself, though the treated windshield helped to protect Porter from being blinded by it. When Porter tried to pull back away from Galactus, though, he discovered something horrible. His plane wasn't responding. Not only that, but it didn't look like any of the missiles had exploded either. The radio still seemed to be working, but Porter knew he'd only have a few seconds to eject before his plane went down into the ocean. It was as if he'd just run out of fuel, all of a sudden.

Reacting quickly, Porter ejected from his plane as it plummeted towards the ocean. The wind whipped around him, as his parachute opened, and the plane went down underneath him, into the water. For the most part, its impact with the waves didn't seem to have damaged it much from where he was, but he could still see Galactus, standing in mid-air over the New York harbor, as unaffected as a mountain by all they'd tried to do, and still not looking the least bit upset over mankind's best effort to destroy him. The sight was, in many ways, more terrifying than any rampaging monster.

* * *

Sawyer hadn't been able to tell what was happening after the larger group had begun their attack. One second, there'd been some kind of bright flash of light, and the next, he was spinning out of control, plummeting downward towards New York City. The option to eject crossed Sawyer's mind, but he didn't like the idea of leaving his plane, and letting it crash into some building down below. Sawyer decided in just a moment that even if he died, saving a few more lives would make his sacrifice worth it.

Though he seemed to be out of fuel, Sawyer wrestled with the controls. The main steering mechanism wasn't dependent on gasoline, which meant that with a little time, some careful piloting, and a good, healthy miracle, he might be able to maneuver the plane a few yards to the left, away from the building that he was careening towards.

Sawyer felt himself sweating all over, as he struggled with the steering, desperately trying to get the plane to do what he wanted it to, as his very life seemed to flash before his eyes. For a moment, he thought he saw the image of a beautiful woman in front of him, but that was just wishful thinking. Still, there were worse things to imagine during one's last moments of life, Sawyer decided.

At last, with one final effort, Sawyer cleared the building. He was headed straight for the street below, but there were much fewer people down there, and Sawyer knew that he couldn't have made it all the way to the ocean. As he descended to within fifty feet of the ground, he closed both eyes, not wishing to see what was to come.

However, the feeling of the crash came much sooner than he'd expected it to, and it wasn't nearly as jarring or painful as he'd been anticipating. In fact, it felt more like his plane was vibrating than crashing, and at last, it had stopped moving completely.

For a few moments, Sawyer tried moving around in his seat, and was amazed to find that there wasn't any pain. After a second or two, he even dared to open his eyes again, and was very glad that he had.

Of course, he'd known that he was flying into New York, but he still hadn't been expecting to see Miss Marvel. She was even more beautiful in person; Sawyer thought, than her pictures were in the paper, and at that moment, she'd slowed his plane's descent, and saved his life. Even without any other factors, Sawyer realized, that alone would have made her seem more beautiful than an angel.

Quickly, Sawyer opened the cockpit and detached himself from the pilot's seat, climbing out of the plane to meet his amazing savior. She looked a little worried, but even so, it seemed that she couldn't keep a slight grin out of her face after having saved someone.

"There were two others over the city." Sawyer found himself saying, though those words sounded like a poor greeting.

"I got them already." Miss Marvel replied, "You were the last one."

Sawyer felt nervous and delighted all at once. Suddenly, he was with one of the most dreamed-of women in the world; the very icon of mercy for that age, and he couldn't think of anything to say. It was infuriating, so he hurried to say something, even if it was likely to sound pedestrian.

"Thank you so much, miss. I really owe you."

"That's alright." Miss Marvel replied, her smile gaining strength as she spoke, "You don't have to thank me. Does your radio still work?"

Sawyer just nodded.

"Then try to contact the others and make your report quickly. I want you to recommend that no further attacks against Galactus be attempted by the military until the Avengers can find a loophole in his defenses, alright?"

Sawyer nodded again.

"Great." Miss Marvel replied with a smile, "Then we don't need to owe each other anything. Today, we can all just work together, and call it even."

In just a moment, Miss Marvel had risen up into the air, flying quickly away from the scene of the plane's descent, and waving once to Sawyer as she left.

Sawyer tried to wave back, but Miss Marvel was already gone by the time he'd made the attempt. It was only then that he was able to look down at the place where his plane had been deposited, and was amazed by the sight. It was a wide road; the sort that many cars typically drive on, and amazingly, only a few cars were on that road at the moment. Apparently, Miss Marvel had been able to let the cars get out of the way, before landing the plane there. It didn't look as if a single person had died due to the military's attack against Galactus.

It was really marvelous, and Sawyer found himself whistling in amazement, in spite of the huge, metal spacecraft that still loomed threateningly over the Earth. However, it was just then that he remembered how his plane's fuel supply seemed to have cut out and decided to investigate. He spent a moment opening the fuel tank and stuck a short, metal rod into it, but that was when he received a big surprise.

There was definitely something inside the tank, but calling it fuel would have been a stretch, because it was gooey, almost to the point of being stiff and taffy-like. Most people wouldn't have recognized the substance, but Sawyer, as it happened, did. In college, he'd written a report on how radio waves could be used to corrode oil supplies, making them unusable by machines, but it had been a completely theoretical process, he'd thought, until recently.

Suddenly, something like that had happened to him, and to everyone in his squad. The missiles had stopped their forward momentum, the fuel in the jets had stopped functioning... With just that flash of light, Galactus had taken the simplest possible route to victory; one which demonstrated not only incredible power, but monstrous intelligence as well. Though Sawyer was pleased to have been saved from destruction, he couldn't help but feel terrible fear inside of him that for once, the people of Earth might not be able to come out on top.

* * *

As soon as Miss Marvel had finished landing the last of the planes safely, the next stage of the plan began; the next attempt to avoid an all-out war. A large motorcycle with flaming wheels drove directly up the tallest building near the harbor, parking on the roof, and its rider dismounted, causing the motorcycle's wheels to stop flaming. Then, in a moment, he'd drawn a fiery chain from his belt and swung it through the air in the direction of Galactus. Soon, he'd latched onto one of the devices implanted in the cosmic giant's head, and had swung forward, through the air, climbing the daemon chain, until he was hanging right in front of the mighty being's face.

"You will recognize me, Ancient One." Ghost Rider said, as he hung there, in front of Galactus.

"I recognize your power, and nothing else," Galactus replied aloud, "but to be forced into life on this world, a creature of your class must have been truly humbled."

"I have been endangered; yes." Ghost Rider admitted somberly, "For a time, it seemed that I would remain in oblivion forever, but now, I have a more difficult task; to cope with the mortal flesh and morals of this being, whom I inhabit."

"Your troubles are no concern of mine." Galactus replied, growing visibly bored with the discussion.

"On the contrary," Ghost Rider replied, "it is because of those troubles that I've come to show you a terrifying sight. One day, you know that the universe will end, and with it, your life. On that day, you will be forced to account for the actions that you've taken."

"My actions are dictated by my role in the universe." Galactus replied, clearly still not interested, "I need not explain them to the likes of you."

"What of the actions that are not dictated by that role?" Ghost Rider asked, "What of your works in between meals? When your life is examined, will you be seen as a villain, who did nothing but harm, or as a tragic, but good-intentioned figure, doomed to destroying other life-forms."

"That decision will be for higher and more worthy entities than yourself to make." Galactus replied, sounding a bit irritated as he spoke.

"It is a decision that you make whenever you consume a planet containing intelligent life." Ghost Rider replied with a frown, "Now, open your eyes and see what your role in existence has been."

With those words, Ghost Rider's mouth opened, and a deep, black shape could be seen within.

* * *

The sights that Galactus saw within Ghost Rider's demon soul were reflections of his own life; his birth alongside the universe, his need for vast energies to maintain the cosmic balance, and his clear instructions, which he needed to follow for the sake of everything that existed. Galactus saw nothing there that surprised him.

As he'd passed through the universe, Galactus saw how it had reacted; how his role had seemed like a great darkness, spreading to stars and planets, to engulf them over eons, and yet, it was still his part in things. He saw the planets fade at his presence, and witnessed once again the deaths of a hundred trillion innocent souls in the eons before he'd adopted the silver surfer as his Emissary, and for the first time in millennia, Galactus found the sight unsettling. When the vision faded, and he found himself still on Earth, Galactus looked a bit shaken, but still with great resolve in his face and expression.

"If the lord of this universe truly cares so much for mere, mortal lives, he can speak with me about it." Galactus replied, "However, if he does deign to speak with me, he must prepare himself to answer my inquiries, and I will have many grievances to bring to his attention. My role in life has not been a pleasant one, and I refuse to accept that the deaths of so many were entirely my doing. I bemoan my nature, but I can do nothing to change it. Now, begone from this world, if you can. I hunger for its energy."

Then, just a moment later, Ghost Rider found himself back on the ground again, having failed in his task. Though his attempt had shaken Galactus a little, it hadn't bothered him enough to change his mind. Galactus still intended to consume the energy of planet Earth, and Ghost Rider knew that he didn't have enough power to change that, which meant that it was time for the last two stages of the plan to be put into action. There wasn't any way around it anymore. Earth's champions were going to war with the devourer of worlds.

It made even Ghost Rider feel some dread on behalf of Earth.

* * *

The Earth's defenders moved in waves, trying not to get in each other's way. The first to move in were the Green Goblin's men, who were defeated in less than five minutes. Next, the X-men made their move, attacking with many powers and allies that Strange hadn't even been aware they'd possessed, but in the end, they had to fall back. Galactus was simply too powerful, even for the greatest of them.

The last wave, Strange had decided, would consist of the most powerful members of the Avengers, and if they failed to drive Galactus off, they would retreat a short time later, and try to find some way into the control chamber of the world ship. The problem with that idea, however, was that Strange still had no idea how to reach that chamber. None of the spells he'd tried for reaching it had been working, and he wasn't entirely sure what the surfer had meant when he'd said that someone was needed who could perceive higher levels of reality.

Strange himself was psychic, and he wasn't able to reach the chamber of Galactus. If they needed some kind of special person with cosmic awareness, Doctor Strange was very much afraid that no such person existed on Earth. As he watched Thor, Anna, and Black Bolt fly off to the attack, Strange couldn't help but feel as if he was being given an impossible task, but he knew he had to look for the kind of person the surfer had described; a person with knowledge beyond reality...

* * *

Doctor Doom smiled as he watched the intruder break through his second defense mechanism, then his third. Only two more to go, and the man would be in his very throne room. If he could manage that, things could truly begin. The fourth barrier was down in moments. Doom got to his feet just a second later, and headed for the door, preparing to welcome his new guest. In a moment, the doors burst open, and a figure dressed in red and black leaped into Doom's throne room, looking alert, but also frantic.

"Honey!" the figure called out cheerfully, "I'm home!"

"It seems so." Doom replied, paying no heed to the new arrival's strange sense of humor, "Not only are you earlier than I expected, but you made it through all of my defenses almost as fast as the Avengers did. Your skills are enviable."

"Doctor Livingston, I don't think?" the figure asked, tilting his head as if there was nothing connecting it to his body. At that point, of course, Doom could see that the man who'd burst into his throne room was more than merely a goof-off. He was insane.

"Tell me why you've come here." Doom said sternly, though the strange figure still didn't seem to be taking him seriously.

"Well, it's kind of a swank pad." the man joked, "I was in the neighborhood. Then some nice guy, who shall remain nameless because his folks were jerks, handed me a big wad of cash and told me he wanted a souvenir."

"The Grand Opal of Secrets." Doom clarified, holding up the gem in question.

"Ooh! Shiny!" the other man quipped as he looked at the gemstone from across the room, and started to approach it.

"Let me be direct, Deadpool." Doom said, still holding the opal out, "It was one of my agents who hired you to take this gemstone from me, and if you give it to him, he'll simply bring it right back to me again."

"Sounds like kind of an inconvenient way to get packages delivered." Deadpool replied without pausing to think about his response for even a second, "Still, I guess rich guys will go to all kinds of trouble to get a nice birthday gift."

"The opal means nothing to me, at this point." Doom explained, "If you comply with my wishes, I'll even let you keep it."

"K." Deadpool replied, leaning against the nearest door frame, "What's the scoop?"

It was as close as Doom was likely to get to having Deadpool's full attention, considering the raging insanity that seemed to be charging through the highly effective mercenary's mind. Taking only a moment to think his words through, Doom spoke up, starting to explain himself.

"It's come to my attention that in spite... or perhaps because of your mental condition, you have access to knowledge that even the wisest of the wise are denied." Doom said, his gaze narrowing, "Kindly share it with me."

"Huh?" Deadpool asked, "You mean the little black words? Gee willickers, I'm so happy! Nobody ever believed in them before. Maybe you can see them too. Clap if you believe!"

"See them?" Doom asked, suddenly becoming confused, "Are you saying that you can see black words that others can't?"

"Sure." Deadpool replied, looking very relaxed, "All the time. They're always there, no matter where I go, and they love to talk about how things look and how I'm feeling. We have such fun together."

Doom, however, was starting to scowl as he heard Deadpool describe his strange visions. If there was even a grain of truth to Deadpool's words, he might be able to unlock an even greater power than Doom himself.

"Tell me..." Doom said, "These words... Can you tell them what to say? Can you make them say what you want?"

"Nope." Deadpool replied, still relaxing, "The words don't care what I want, but that doesn't mean we're not still pals. I love having them around. You're never lonely when you know the little words are talking about you."

By that point, Doom was almost certain that his hunch about Deadpool had been right, so he asked one final question.

"Can anyone else see the words like you? Is there anyone who can tell the words what to do?"

"Hmmm?" Deadpool asked, looking surprised, "I've never seen it happen, but come to think of it..."

For a moment, Deadpool trailed off, then spoke up again, fairly clearly.

"There was this one time when I was in New York and the Avengers showed up. I got away, of course, but the happy little words told me that one of them had a stronger whosawutzit with the force or something than me, and didn't realize it..."

"One of the Avengers..." Doom muttered, looking disappointed, but a moment later, he held up one of his gauntlets, and opened a compartment in one side of it, pushing a few tiny studs on the inside. A second later, a green light bathed the visitor to Doom's castle, and he started squirming around, looking amused by the whole thing.

"Hey! Hey, cut it out. That tickles."

Doom didn't respond to that, but he did look carefully over the results that were being fed into his helmet, and he was astonished by what he found.

"You have a slight chemical imbalance in your brain." Doom observed.

"I love you too." Deadpool replied, relaxing again, as the scan finished.

Quickly, Doom tossed the opal to Deadpool, who caught it effortlessly with one hand, and in a second more, Doom had reached his throne, and pressed a button on one of the armrests as he sat down. A large interface terminal descended from the ceiling in front of Doom's throne just a moment later. However, Deadpool hadn't left with his prize.

"Eh... What's up, Doc?" Deadpool asked, leaning over the back of Doom's throne.

"I'm convinced that your chemical imbalance is the source of the strange words you keep seeing." Doom replied, "If I can key my scanners to detect chemical concentrations of that sort, I may be able to track down the one with the highest concentration of all."

"Fun." Deadpool replied, though he sounded intensely bored with the whole thing, as Doom pushed a few keys, and the scanner started to do its work. In only a few moments, Doom gasped aloud. He'd been looking for someone with the same chemical imbalance, and he'd certainly found the person he was looking for, but the signal he was picking up was of an even greater magnitude than the energy patterns that had been generated by the silver surfer...

* * *

Strange fired another blast of eldritch energy in an implosive configuration at Galactus, who seemed to have been knocked off-balance by the Thing's most recent attack, and was collapsing towards the ocean. Just a moment later, Thor and Anna both started charging up with electricity, and drove into the ocean as one, sending waves of controlled electric power through the ocean and their enemy alike. However, just a second later, Galactus reached up and batted each of them aside with his arms, firing beams from his eyes again, and driving both Strange and the Thing back. In just a moment more, Black Bolt was moving to the attack again, and when he whispered, Galactus seemed to shudder for a moment, before the inhuman king was batted aside effortlessly as well.

"Strange!"

Doctor Strange had heard the voice of Black Bolt in his thoughts, contacting him through his telepathic connection to the Avengers, "What's going on? My voice nearly destroyed the surfer. Why didn't it damage Galactus?"

"It did," Strange realized in absolute dread, "but Galactus regenerated much more quickly than the Surfer; so quickly that human eyes could barely even perceive it. I'm afraid we may be fighting a losing battle after all."

In just a moment, however, a massive, subterranean worm the size of a skyscraper emerged from the ocean and seized Galactus, and Strange could tell that it was under the command of the Mole Man, because the underground ruler was riding on the beast's back. The three of them were hurled into the air, towards the open land near the city, where there were fewer buildings. Galactus, however, still didn't look worried; just annoyed as beams shot out from his eyes again, completely vaporizing the enormous worm. A moment later, the Mole Man was falling through the air, and all of the Avengers could see that from that height, he couldn't possibly survive the fall. At once, She-Hulk started to panic, leaping towards him, but he was too far away. She'd never be able to reach him in time.

However, just then, a blur shot through the air, seizing the Mole Man as Galactus descended slowly back towards ground level nearby. In just a moment, the Mole Man was being placed back on the ground a short distance away, and the being who'd placed him there was grinning with confident delight. The Mole Man's life had been saved by Namor.

"It seems I owe you my thanks." the Mole Man said after taking a moment to brush himself off.

Namor paused for a second at that point, surprised by the nature of the comment. He knew how hard it was for the Mole Man to thank anyone.

"Your courtesy is much appreciated," Namor replied with a short bow of his head, acknowledging the Mole Man as one king to another, "but I must warn you to leave this place. The battle will soon rage beyond anything that you have ever witnessed."

"You warn me?" The Mole Man asked, his anger building quickly, "Is this not an enemy for all of mankind to fight? Is it not my right as leader of a great and powerful nation to do battle with it?"

"It is." Namor replied, "I'll honor that right. However, I have every intention of defeating Galactus myself, with assistance from one of my... friends. To do that, I'm afraid that I'll need a little space. I can't afford to protect anyone else."

"I will need no further protection." The Mole Man replied, a little bitterly, "You need not concern yourself over that, at least."

"Then nothing else needs to be said." Namor replied, turning on his heel, and taking to the air again. There was only one more thing he was waiting for. Namor needed to talk to Doctor Strange, and the attention of the Human Torch was needed as well, if not by the Submariner.

"Doctor Strange. Human Torch." Namor said into the communication device that he kept attached to his belt at nearly all times, "There's something that must be done. Meet me half a mile west from Strange's current position."

Namor had chosen that particular spot for a reason. He'd chosen it because that spot was where Crystal was; the girl he'd come to love and care about more than any other, and the one who held the key to unlocking his own true power. She had something important that she'd need to say to the leader of the Avengers, and her own former boyfriend.

The four Avengers met in that spot only a few minutes after they'd all heard Namor's message. Galactus, for his part, seemed to have lost interest in them again, and was starting to assemble some sort of machine on the ground at his feet. Crystal looked sad and afraid, but she knew what she had to do.

"What is it, Namor?" Strange asked as soon as they were all close enough to hear each other, "Where have you been?"

"It took some time to prepare for this." Namor admitted, "This enemy is clearly beyond any ordinary mortal. I must fight him at my peak."

"Namor..." Strange said, looking truly scared, "I'm not sure what you're planning on doing, but even Thor hasn't been able to defeat Galactus, and he was our strongest ally. Do you really think that you can win against someone like that?"

"Not alone; no." Namor said with a grim look on his face, "However, if Crystal uses her power over water to maintain my full strength, there's no way that I could be defeated."

"Huh?" Johnny asked, looking a little confused, "But Crystal's powers only work over a distance of about twenty-five feet. She'd have to be able to fly to pull that off, even if she could keep it up all day."

"No, Johnny." Crystal said, from where she was standing and staring at the ground, still in the uniform that had been designed for her by Reed Richards, "There's something I haven't told you... Something I never told anyone because... because I was scared of what you'd think. I guess that doesn't matter anymore. I mean... It doesn't matter what you, or anybody, really, thinks of me at this point. The world's about to be destroyed completely, and everybody we care about could be gone, just like that. I don't think I ever expected things to get this bad. Anyway, I hid a lot of things from you, Johnny. I hid things from you, because I didn't want you to think of me as some kind of monster, but also... I didn't want you to feel hurt. One thing I hid from you was... How I really feel."

"Crystal...?" Johnny asked, looking absolutely shocked as his flame started to fade into nothingness, "What are you saying?"

"Johnny, as much as I've tried to like you and your world... this 'New York' you live in..." Crystal said, looking absolutely miserable, "I just don't. When we were captured by Doom a while back, I nearly sided with him, because he wanted to take the world, and make it a better place, and... I knew that the way I still cared about you and the Avengers was all that kept me from joining him. That was when I realized the truth about our relationship, Johnny. I was attracted to you by the fact that you and your ways were strange and new to me, but my heart has always been in favor of the purity of purpose that my people honor. The blood that runs through my veins is still inhuman. As much as I wish I could change that; tolerate a life spent without a clear direction... I can't. I know that's your way, and I know that you enjoy it, but I could never live that kind of life, and because of that, I know we can't have any kind of future together; not as a couple. We'd be fighting over everything, and I don't want that. Deep down, I think you know that much."

Johnny, however, didn't look as if he'd realized that at all. The expression that he wore in that moment was one of the deepest shock, and when he tried to speak a moment later, the hurt in his voice was obvious.

"I... I never even thought about it. All this time we've been together, and... I never thought..."

"I'm sorry, Johnny." Crystal said, trying desperately to finish explaining herself, "I went with you because I wanted adventure, and the chance to see the outside world, but being with the Avengers all this time has taught me that I can have those things and also maintain a steady idea of my mission. I... need that dependability; that sense of duty. Without their duty, inhumans feel empty and lost. My duty for today is to help Namor defeat Galactus by using my full powers, and I can't let fear hold me back anymore. If we fail, and Galactus destroys us all, none of this will matter anyway, and if we succeed, maybe people will eventually start to accept me, even knowing how dangerous I am. You see..."

For a moment, Crystal sighed, and looked up at the ship that dominated the sky, feeling her last few nervous misgivings slip away, before she began to explain herself.

"When I first joined the Avengers," Crystal explained, "something happened to me. Spider-man and I helped the Avengers move into their new mansion headquarters, and one of the containers that had belonged to Hank Pym before he died slid open, bathing me in a massive, uncontrolled beam of Pym Particles. Do you remember when that happened?"

Johnny, however, wasn't replying, so Doctor Strange did instead.

"I remember it." he said, "We were afraid you were going to die, but Doctor Richards was able to bond the Pym Particles to you naturally, saving your life."

"That's right." Crystal replied, frowning grimly as she spoke, "However, there's something else that no one knew, or even suspected at the time. Pym Particles change the size, mass, weight, and structure of objects to make them larger or smaller without any negative side effects at all. What I've had bonded to me since that night would probably have been considered, by Hank Pym himself, to be a massive, uncontrolled overdose. It's changed me, Johnny. I'm not the same anymore. My limits are different than they used to be. That's why I always wear the uniform that Reed made for me."

"Crystal..." Johnny said, amazed, but still hurt as she explained herself, "What are you saying? Do you have the power to change your size, like Giant Man could? Can you become a hundred feet tall?"

Crystal, however, looked away for a moment, feeling very embarrassed. A few seconds later, though, she replied.

"You won't believe me, Johnny..." Crystal said, trembling just a little as she took a step back away from him, "You won't believe until you've seen this for yourself."

Namor gave the Human Torch a brief glance, as Crystal closed both eyes and focused on her objective.

* * *

The Mole Man watched somewhat sadly from over the hill. Crystal was about to reveal her true power, and it was about time. The Mole Man had suspected the truth about Crystal since the incident with the Green Goblin, when something had used its powers to tear apart the containment chambers that had kept half of the Avengers prisoner. It had, the Mole Man realized, been something very large and strong, and his hearing had alerted him to its general shape when Crystal's arms and legs had collided with the walls, and she'd torn open the containers in which the Avengers were held captive, then resumed her previous place on the floor, pretending to be unconscious.

A while later, when Doom had captured them all with full knowledge of their powers, and Crystal had been the first to escape, the Mole Man had seen that as proof that Crystal had a power that no one knew about, and it didn't take much deductive reasoning skill to determine what that power might be, although even the Mole Man had no idea of the extent of that power. Still, he'd kept silent about what he'd known.

At first, the Mole Man had done so out of respect for Crystal's wishes. She was, after all, fellow royalty. However, the Mole Man slowly started to realize, there was another reason why he'd kept his mouth shut about Crystal's power, after the near-invasion of Earth by Dormammu. The Mole Man realized that if Crystal was aware that he knew her secret, she might start using her full powers in front of him, and the Mole Man hadn't wanted to risk that. He hadn't wanted to risk it, because he knew how such an image would make him feel.

Indeed, the Mole Man knew how it had made him feel before, when he'd sensed her presence in the goblin's hideout, and as Crystal starting growing larger over the hillside, transforming into a true giantess, the Mole Man knew how it made him feel then. Soon, she was ten feet tall, then fifteen, twenty-five, thirty-five, seventy, a hundred, one hundred fifty, two hundred... three... The Mole Man listened to the whole thing from where he was, gritting his teeth against each other, but as Crystal finally reached her greatest height; a full five hundred feet tall, the Mole Man had to struggle hard to suppress a feeling of lust.

"Magnificent," he muttered as he turned away from her, and pressed a button on his staff, clapping it against the ground. He couldn't be there anymore. The Mole Man was a very proud person, who hated to admit to having weaknesses, but he just wasn't strong enough to suppress his baser emotions completely at times, and he knew that his feelings for Crystal were nothing else; a simple attraction with no firm grounding behind it.

When the Mole Man had fallen in love with Jennifer Walters, his feelings at the time had been similar, but he'd denied them also. However, Jennifer was a far different sort of person from Crystal. Jennifer was kind, outgoing, and good-humored. She accepted compliments easily, and her philosophies were very down-to-Earth. She encouraged the Mole Man to be a better man than he was, and yet, she never made him feel inferior. Crystal was satisfied with herself; proud and idealistic, like all inhumans. There was nothing about her that the Mole Man found attractive, except for her power, and a relationship that didn't make.

Besides, Crystal already had loving friends, and perhaps even a boyfriend, and even if none of those factor's had stood in the Mole Man's way, there was one more thing that he could never forget or ignore. He was in love with Jennifer; not just physically, but on a level where he truly cared what happened to her. Again, the Mole Man stubbornly tried to deny it, but he couldn't change the facts. To pursue any woman other than Jennifer at that point would have made him feel a shame even deeper than the lowest pit, and for a moment, he wondered if that made him weak, or if his growing desire to not disappoint others was actually a sort of strength.

A moment later, a drill emerged from the ground, revealing one of the Mole Man's transport capsules. Within a couple more seconds, the Mole Man had climbed inside, and was descending into the Earth, hoping that none of his base feelings had been noticed, and the others could do their job without his help.

* * *

In a single, swift motion, Crystal reached one arm out across the land towards the sea, and felt the water responding to her powers. With that increase in size, the range of her elemental powers had changed from a mere twenty-five feet to almost a thousand yards, and the strength of that power had multiplied a hundredfold. It was a power that she'd been afraid to use, up to that point, because she'd seen a few movies about giant monsters with super-powers, and she'd been certain that people would be terrified of her when she reached her full height. Nevertheless, it was what she had to do.

Soon, several dozen gallons of water had risen up out of the ocean, and surrounded Namor, purifying themselves as they went, so that when they made contact with his body, he felt the strength of his muscles increasing rapidly to their peak. Once again, he was invincible. Once again, he was the greatest, and he owed it all to Crystal's brave commitment; her determination to do the right thing.

In that moment, Namor could see that Galactus had almost finished assembling his device, and nodded to Crystal, hoping that she could see the gesture. She nodded back, to indicate that she had, and in just a moment, Namor was charging through the air; the water still surrounding him on all sides.

Galactus realized what was happening at once, when Namor charged through his machines, tearing them to shreds in a single motion, then rose to face Galactus himself through the air. Of course, Galactus was very large, and he still looked very powerful. Clearly, he was more powerful than Crystal. Although Galactus came up to just over Crystal's knees, Namor had already seen him use many other powers that Crystal wouldn't have been able to compensate for. It would simply have to be Namor who fought that battle.

It was only then, once Namor had done so much damage to Galactus' machine, and acquired so much obvious power himself that Galactus paused, and truly noticed him.

"You accomplish nothing by this foolish attempt." Galactus said, his voice still spreading across the world as he spoke, "My converter is powerful, but it's not irreplaceable. I can assemble another in minutes."

"You won't be assembling anything on this planet." Namor replied through the water, grinning broadly, "I'm going to stop you."

"You'll do no such thing, nor will you so much as delay me in my work." Galactus replied, raising one hand skyward. In just a moment, another hatch seemed to have opened in the ship overhead, and out from it descended a broad, metallic-looking creature. It was about the same height as Namor, though it had a metal coating over its skin, and cybernetic implants all over its body, like Galactus.

"Enforcer." Galactus said, apparently addressing the creature "Destroy this little one while I finish my work."

Namor, however, just smiled as the tough-looking creature charged at him through the air, rotating its arms with incredible speed. If he'd been out of the water, Namor might have been worried by its obvious power and swiftness, but surrounded by the source of his strength, he could see every tiny motion of the creature's arms, and every twitch of its eyes. He could see everything. It had no chance.

The Enforcer continued forward, looking eager, and very pleased with itself. It headed towards Namor like a bullet, both arms whirling and vibrating with incredible speed, and then, it lashed out with them. Its arms got closer to Namor in a hurry. They were two feet away from his face, then one foot, then six inches. Suddenly, Namor was gone.

The Enforcer looked around in a panic, completely unable to determine what had just happened, until he spun around and found Namor glaring at him, only an inch behind his back.

The Enforcer clearly didn't speak Namor's language, not having bothered to learn much of it, but Namor could see fury building in its alien eyes over having been eluded so effectively. Namor folded his arms angrily, which the Enforcer clearly interpreted as an opening, lashing out with its arms. However, it was simply too slow. Again and again, Namor weaved back and forth, out of the way of the quick blows being aimed at him, and at last, he disappeared again, reappearing on one side of the Enforcer in a rapid blur of motion that no one, including Crystal, had been able to keep track of. The Enforcer tried to respond, once again punching with all its might, but Namor just decided to let the Enforcer have its way for once. It had no idea what it was facing.

Jabs, crosses and uppercuts were aimed at Namor's flesh, again and again, making contact every single time, since Namor had chosen to stop avoiding them, but at last, after almost fifteen seconds of that, the Enforcer started to back off, looking deeply disheartened. The Submariner wasn't even bruised.

"Dolt." Namor said, finally allowing his anger to show, "You're not just facing some pathetic braggart. I'm truly invincible."

It was only in that moment that the Enforcer really began to look scared, though it didn't dare to retreat, for fear of Galactus. In just a moment, Namor had charged forward through the air, and driven his fist easily into the Enforcer's midsection.

The vibrations of that blow were so intense, that even Crystal was driven back by them. They shook the city, changed the very weather itself, and kicked up clouds of dust and debris across the battlefield. Then, as the dust started to settle, revealing what had happened, the Avengers were all astonished, and feeling truly hopeful for the first time since the fight with Galactus had begun. The Enforcer's metal implants were gone. Its metal skin was gone. In fact, the Enforcer itself had been completely disintegrated by the force of the impact. All that remained was Namor, still covered in water, with one fist outstretched.

"That's what invincible means." Namor said calmly, turning to face Galactus again, who seemed to be paying much closer attention to him by that point, "You'd better leave this world if you want to remain in one piece."

At that point, Galactus was starting to look a little irritated, but he spoke again; a severe tone in his voice.

"Your strength is greater than any being that I've ever encountered, but don't forget that you're still only mortal. In spite of all your power, you can never defeat me."

"I'll do what I have to do." Namor replied, and in another moment, he was charging forward through the air, lashing out with his fists as quickly as he could. Sure enough, Galactus was thrown backwards into the ocean by the Submariner's assault, and a moment later, when he stood upright again, he looked somewhat shaken. However, Namor was also feeling a little worried himself. He'd felt the boundless power of his own muscles bear into Galactus, and tear apart large sections of his body. Then, Galactus had simply stood up, and all of the visible damage was gone. Namor had already been using his full strength against his enemy, but Galactus was proving to be a harder enemy to destroy than the Enforcer had been. Something was healing Galactus, even as he continued to take Namor's assault.

* * *

"Wow." the Human Torch said, as he watched the spectacle from the hillside where he stood. The collisions between Namor and Galactus could be felt all through the city, and the Torch himself was just looking astonished, having nearly forgotten the terrible hurt he was feeling because of what Crystal had told him, "I never knew Namor could do... I mean, wow. Look at that. He's got the big guy on the ropes. He's gonna win for sure."

However, when Johnny looked at Doctor Strange, he realized that there was something wrong. In spite of all the power that Namor was wielding, Strange looked positively morose.

"Right now," Strange said, as he watched the fight, "Namor is the strongest of all of Earth's champions, and the only one whose strength can match the cosmic force of a being like Galactus, but he can't win."

"Huh?" Johnny asked, confused, "But he's clobbering the big guy!"

"Not exactly." Strange replied, "If you look more closely, you'll see that Galactus hasn't suffered any lasting injuries at all from the pounding he's taken. Whenever Namor hits him, Galactus heals himself, and gets back up, unharmed. At best, Namor's bought us some time, but sooner or later, Galactus is going to start using his full powers, and Namor won't have a chance. Pure physical strength can't overcome this kind of enemy."

Johnny thought, for a moment, that Strange was just being a pessimist, but a second later, he realized that the fight was indeed turning against the Submariner. Namor's latest punch hadn't made contact with Galactus. It had passed right through him.

For a moment, Namor gave a start of surprise, backing off, as Galactus rose up in front of him again. In that moment, Namor understood. The surfer had had the power to pass through solid objects, and to drain away the energy of living beings, and it would simply be foolish to suppose that Galactus himself lacked those same powers. There was, Namor realized at that moment in horrified fear, no way that he could truly win that battle. Though he was physically invincible, he was no match for the titan from space. No one was.

"Doctor Strange." Namor thought, hoping that the leader of the Avengers would pick his thoughts up telepathically, "I can't beat him, but I'll try to keep him busy. Think of something quickly."

Strange just nodded sadly, as he heard Namor's words in his mind. It meant that the whole thing was on his shoulders again. He had to find the person with knowledge beyond reality; the person whose cosmic perceptions could get them into Galactus' ship. However, just as Strange was about to try one last, desperate spell of detection, he heard another voice in his thoughts, and that voice came from a fellow telepath, who was also a mage. It came from Victor Von Doom.

"Strange." Doom said, sounding worried, "Listen to me. The whole world's about to be destroyed unless you do exactly as I say. You must find a way into the ship of Galactus using the power of cosmic perception that one of your teammates has."

"Doom?" Strange asked, feeling very confused by his old rival's open willingness to let another read his thoughts; something that he'd never done in all the time that Strange had known him, "What are you talking about? I don't know anyone with a power like that."

"Yes you do." Doom replied quickly, "She-Hulk."

Another man might have refused to believe it, or questioned Doom's sources, but Doctor Strange knew Doom, and he knew that Doom never said anything unless he was sure that he was correct.

"Miss Walters has the power you've been looking for, Strange." Doom replied urgently, "She can sense the threads of reality all around herself, and more importantly, she can ride those threads from one place to another in existence. I don't know how she managed to acquire this power, but it's precisely what you need. Use it quickly, and save the world."

At that moment, Doom blocked off his telepathic contact with Strange, and in spite of the fresh information that Strange had received, which should have been like a ray of hope, he was even more nervous and afraid than ever, because although he knew what to do, he wasn't sure how to do it.

Strange hesitated for a moment, as he watched Namor try desperately to continue his struggle against Galactus, futile though it was. It was only after a few more moments of that that Strange found the strength to make contact with She-Hulk again.

"Jennifer." Strange said into her thoughts telepathically, "I've just received a very worrying message from Doctor Doom."

"Doom, huh?" Jennifer asked, sounding disappointed, though strangely, not surprised, "What does he want?"

"Well, do you remember the cosmic awareness that the surfer said we needed?" Strange asked, receiving a brief, affirmative reply, "Doom is convinced that you have that awareness."

"Huh?" She-Hulk asked, sounding confused, "I don't get it. How could I be aware of something and not realize it?"

Strange thought about that for a few seconds. It was a puzzling question, but in all his time fighting against daemons, he'd seen many things that might provide an answer for Jennifer.

"Actually..." Strange replied, "It is possible that you might really have the level of awareness Doom is talking about, but you're receiving so much information, that your mind just can't process it all. It's also possible that the information you're receiving is so strange and alien in origin, that your conscious mind is filtering most of it out, or maybe you don't have the kind of abstract imagination that you need to process cosmic data. Any of those reasons or a dozen others could explain why you haven't noticed this strange power. Tell me something, Jennifer..."

At that point, however, Strange's tone changed slightly, as he started to realize another possibility; trying to unravel the mystery as quickly as he could, "Recently, have you felt like everything is normal, or have you felt different; strange, like there was someone or something watching you? Have you felt like there was something very odd going on nearby; like you were starting to catch glimpses of the world around you through different kinds of eyes?"

Jennifer hesitated for a moment, but after a few seconds, she replied to the question, sounding nervous and worried.

"A while back..." Jennifer admitted slowly, "When Bruce told me about the Hulk for the first time, he asked me if I'd ever seen a monster looking back out of the mirror at me. I told him I hadn't, but... But I also told him that there was something else I'd seen; something weird. I felt like... like there was a current of letters, numbers and symbols running through the whole world around me, but when I turned to look, it was gone. It was like my whole life... my whole world was being held in place by... by words, instead of physics."

"By words?" Strange asked, amazed by the revelation, "What kind of words? Supernatural words? An incantation?"

"Something like that." She-Hulk replied, "Words of power, that create things from nothing. I don't know if it's like a spell, though. Spells change energy and move matter. This is different. It's like the words are what make the matter solid to begin with, starting with... with the letter A, and just causing things to spring into existence from that point on. Doctor Strange... What if what I'm seeing is true? What if the whole universe is nothing but words on paper?"

However, Strange was ready with a reply to that.

"That doesn't make it any less real. Jennifer, whether our world exists because of words on paper, or because of paint on a canvas, or even because of words spoken into a microphone doesn't make any difference, just like it doesn't make any difference whether our world exists to feed a cosmic being from space, or to be knocked from existence when the next big monster escapes from its extra-dimensional prison. All that matters is that right here, right now, our world exists, and it's just as real as it's always been. It's the world you've spent your whole life in. You were born in it, you grew up in it, acquired your powers, and you've spent over a year in this world trying to protect it. Now it needs your help again. No matter what kinds of cosmic principles run our universe, that doesn't make our lives worth any less. Don't be afraid of your place in the cosmic balance. Embrace it, and embrace the rules of this world, that you're able to bend and circumvent. It's the only way that any of us can possibly survive. You have to open yourself to this sense you've been given. You have to be ready to see what it can show you."

Jennifer shuddered at that thought, but in a moment, she'd gathered up her courage, and was ready. She knew what she had to do.

"Alright." Jennifer said grimly, "I'll do it."

Then, just a second later, she closed her eyes, opening her thoughts to the impulses she'd been ignoring before, trying to wrap her mind around fresh kinds of abstractions, as the strange words came flooding into her head. For a moment, she was afraid that she'd be swept away by them all, but she remembered what she had to do, and in only a few seconds, before she could explain what was happening,***

* * *

Namor attempted to lash out again, but his strength was rapidly leaving him. Somehow, he could tell that Galactus was drawing biochemical energy directly out of his body, and despite being surrounded by the very source of his strength, Namor was losing focus, and he was even starting to lose consciousness. As the Atlantean lord plummeted from the sky, hitting the ground like a meteor, Crystal ran forward, making the trip to Galactus' location in three enormous strides, looking absolutely furious. However, Galactus had noticed her, and in moments, she could feel her strength being drained away as well. By the time she was within fifty yards of him, Crystal couldn't even remain on her feet, and collapsed to the ground, shaking that whole area of the county as she fell.

"Yes." Galactus said a moment later, "It's clear how my Emissary was prevented from meeting me when I first arrived. A pity, in a way."

For a moment, Galactus seemed to be looking around one last time, glowing even brighter. Then, his eyes opened wide in realization, and he spoke again.

"Emissary!" Galactus exclaimed, sounding irritated, "The champions of this world can't harm me. You know that. If you've aided them in their attempts, then you've forced me to waste this precious energy, for which such a heavy price is paid, in defeating them. If you want to remain on this world, and perish with it, I'll accept that choice, but I'd prefer to have your explanation. I know that you're still alive, because I can sense your power cosmic. Come forward and speak with me."

Suddenly, something happened that was very surprising. After the surfer had said that he needed time to think, no one had expected him to step forward and speak with Galactus openly again. However, when Galactus said those words, suddenly, the silver surfer had appearing, standing on his board directly in front of Galactus. The board itself was perched in mid-air before the face of the surfer's master.

"I'll answer for what I've done, great Galactus." the surfer replied, "I've offered these humans no help, however, except to give them information about you."

"If you wish, you may return to my side, then." Galactus replied sternly, "Your help isn't so insignificant that I want to discard it over one mishap."

However, when Galactus said that, the surfer's expression grew just as stern.

"You've chosen not to follow me anymore." Galactus noted, a slight tone of disappointment in his voice.

"Mighty Galactus..." the surfer replied sadly, "I just can't do this anymore. When I accepted the post as your servant, I did so to save my own world, and a thousand others like it, full of intelligent people, and that's what I've done since then, but for every thousand inhabited worlds I saved, one paid the ultimate price."

"Sometimes, when energy was scarce, I knew that you would have noticed an intelligent world, even without my help, and the risk of trying to keep it from you was too great. In those moments, I summoned you to worlds full of sentient beings, not unlike this one. I thought that I was doing the right thing, by trying to protect as many innocent people as possible, while still assisting you in locating the vast energies you crave."

"However, as I've done my duty over the nameless centuries, I've found myself becoming cold, distant, and aloof, much as you yourself are, and I was horrified by the change. I found that I was starting to treat life like a mere resource; a simple commodity; something to be preserved when possible, but not something of infinite value."

"The decision to consume energy isn't mine to make," Galactus replied, "nor can intelligence be a factor in the universal cosmic balance. My duty is to consume energy. You know how pivotal that function is to the survival of every creature in this universe."

"Yes." the surfer replied, "I do, but I can't take any pride in knowing that. It doesn't make me happy to protect people in this capacity, mighty Galactus. In fact, I know that I've made the choice, again and again, to let people die, and when I made that choice, I lost something that was very precious to me; something that I liked about myself when I was mortal. In those days, I lived in peace, and harmed no one. Now... Regardless of the good I've done, I've been the instrument of harm as well. I used to be an artist... a poet... I can't go on this way. I'm sorry, great Galactus, but I can't serve you anymore, and I encourage you to leave this planet in peace."

For several moments, Galactus said nothing. It was clear that he himself was making a difficult decision.

* * *

The control room of Galactus' ship was vast and dense. The strength and weight of its controls were great enough that an ordinary human could never have made use of them, and complex enough that few human beings could even had guessed at their functions for the most part. Most of the controls were silver and black, marked with alien symbols, and hung about the walls of the massive, two-hundred-foot-high chamber. However, a special-looking set of controls were also set into the armrests of the large chair in the very center of that chamber. Those controls were numerous colors, but no obvious instructions of any sort could be found on or near them.

It would have been an absurd task for any mortal to decipher th***She-Hulk found herself in a new place. It was a huge, metal chamber with buttons and switches everywhere, and at once, She-Hulk realized that she'd found the very place she'd been looking for; the control center of the massive, planet-sized ship that Galactus had used to reach Earth. Jennifer Walters was only just starting to realize how she'd managed to accomplish such an incredible feat. She couldn't understand the force that had linked her to the deep, inner workings that drove her universe, but she was starting to realize how those workings operated, and how to control them.

"Yeah, yeah, but that's enough of that." She-Hulk muttered, with a brief look of worry crossing her face, "I need to figure out these controls before Galactus starts killing people."

Of course, She-Hulk had no idea how the computers on Galactus' world ship worked. She couldn't have known which buttons controlled the weapons, nor which ones controlled the communications systems on the ship. She was certainly strong enough to operate the proper controls, but as to what those were, she was very short of clues.

"Then you can't just tell me." She-Hulk muttered sadly, as she watched the letters spreading across physical reality around her, "I have to make my best guess."

Only a moment later, She-Hulk seated herself in the massive chair near the center of the room, and started running her fingers along the master controls. However, just as she did so, a grin of satisfaction began to spread across her face.

"Alright." she said with a smile, "So these are the master controls. Now let's go over this, one thing at a time."

As she said that, she placed one finger on the sensor control, and the other on the environmental control switches, smiling as she absorbed information about them.

* * *

Galactus seemed to have considered his decision for something like five seconds before he responded to the surfer's recommendation.

"If you won't serve me anymore, my Emissary, I'm afraid that there's nothing left to say in that respect. However, this world isn't yours to save. No one, at this point, can save it from destruction. This system is one of the richest in energy for dozens of light years around, and I've already wasted a great deal of energy here. If I have to leave it, and travel to another system, it will waste even more energy, and all of this will have been for nothing. I'm afraid that I don't have the luxury of placing that restriction upon myself. This system still contains enough energy to be worth the sacrifices that I've made here, though the loss of your service to me is a devastating one. I'm afraid that I can't honor your request, my Emissary. I need to recover my energy in some way."

As Galactus said that, he started waving his hands again, and a new machine began to assemble itself on the ground at his feet. It was only then that another voice was heard, echoing across planet Earth.

"What? You're planning to destroy our planet just because you need energy?"

"What is this?" Galactus demanded to know, looking worried for the first time, as he glanced upward, towards his world ship.

"This is one of those primitive earthlings you're planning on killing." She-Hulk replied from her place in the ship, "We might not be able to kill you, Galactus, but you're not going to win. Not this time. Right now, I have my fingers on the weapon control systems of your ship. I wouldn't make any more moves."

"If you press that button," Galactus replied angrily, "you'll vaporize whole sections of your own star system. Are you willing to do that?"

"From what I understand," She-Hulk replied, "if I don't vaporize the solar system, you will. At least this way, you still lose out. I understand that a million tiny chunks of rubble, and an extinguished star are harder to draw energy from than an intact solar system."

"Virtually impossible." Galactus admitted testily, "However, think about this. I may lose if you use those weapons, but you'll be the only surviving human, and you'll become, in that moment, a mass-murderer, not unlike myself, except without the need for energy to use as justification. My Emissary couldn't bare such a fate. Can you?"

In that moment, however, She-Hulk let out what sounded like cruel laughter from her place in space.

"Your Emissary?" She-Hulk asked derisively, "Your Emissary has no experience with Earth, Galactus. He doesn't know what it means to read the newspapers each day for years, and hear stories of death and devastation, praying every day for something to come along and end it all. Earthlings are barbarians, Galactus, and we take our victories where we can get them. To us, a victory of even the smallest sort is better than total defeat. We've never shied away from brutality in the past, and we're not about to start now. Don't compare me to your Emissary, Ancient One."

However, as She-Hulk spoke, her tone of voice seemed to change slightly, and she said "But maybe my word isn't enough for you. Alright, then. I'll just blast the cap off the arctic. Maybe then you'll understand our obsession with victory."

However, as she said that, Galactus replied quickly.

"Wait."

She-Hulk, naturally, kept her finger clear of the weapon controls.

"I know that you understand how to operate my weapons." Galactus said, "No being would be able to enter my control room and use my communications device unless they had access to that knowledge. You've placed me in a difficult position because of that. Tell me your name."

"Jennifer Walters," She-Hulk replied, "and I'm not alone. Every champion of Earth fought you today, Galactus. We were all willing to fight tooth and nail for our survival, and more than that, we all think it's wrong of you to consume inhabited worlds, when uninhabited ones are available. I'm sure that with all of your technology and knowledge of the universe, you can find some way to get the energy you need that doesn't involve killing us."

"Long ago," Galactus explained somberly, "I made peace with my role in the universe. Once, I lamented the lives lost to my hunger, and I knew that those lamentations threatened to destroy me. As such, my regrets over my duty were endangering the universe, so I made the decision to simply have no such regrets. To me, your struggles for survival have been irritating, but ultimately meaningless. At least until now."

For several moments, She-Hulk wasn't sure whether Galactus' words were a good sign or a bad one, but in another second, he continued.

"You've shown me your willingness to cause needless waste to the universe in order to satisfy your animal desire for victory, and now, I'm faced with such a choice as well. I can claim victory over you; force you to destroy your own star system, then annihilate you myself. In a sense, neither of us would truly win, but neither would really lose either. If equilibrium meant anything to me, I'd force you to make good on your threat."

She-Hulk swallowed a little when she heard that, lowering her finger towards the weapon control switch again, though she didn't touch it.

"However," Galactus replied, "it should not be said that the ancient and wise Galactus is as belligerent as mere mortals. I have nothing to prove to you, or to your people, and unlike you, I would consider the destruction of this solar system by any hands other than my own to be a senseless waste."

"You mortals may not consider the far distant future in your plans, but I have." the cosmic invader continued, "If you destroy the solar system, I can gain very little from it, now or ever. However, if I leave this system, and you leave my ship, I will make you a vow that I will not consume your world, until such time as it no longer supports intelligent life. In doing so, I don't promise never to devour it; only to postpone your world's inevitable end until the time when you and your kind will no longer attempt to oppose me. It saddens me to be forced into such a bargain, because my immediate hunger will need to be satisfied elsewhere, but your people are too barbaric and too belligerent. This system isn't worth the struggle. Is my bargain acceptable to you?"

She-Hulk was absolutely elated by those words, and immediately replied into the the communication device "Yes, mighty Galactus. I accept your bargain."

Then, suddenly, just as She-Hulk said those words, she felt something like an enormous pulling sensation, traveling up from her feet, and only a moment later, she was back on Earth again, in the very streets just outside of New York City, watching in amazement as the enormous figure of Galactus started to rise up into the air, back towards his ship. However, just as he was about to enter his vessel, he paused for a moment, and looked around, then spoke once again, and his words continued to travel, reaching all points on the globe at once.

"Today, I; Galactus, have spared this planet Earth, and its star system until it is no longer needed by the species who dwell on it. You humans have earned my ire, but I won't punish any of you. In fact, I hope that you'll start working together as a single, unified group very soon, and travel to other stars. Of course, if you would rather destroy each other completely with conflict, fire, and man-made diseases, I'll feel no worse about that. Either way, your world will belong to me again, once you've left it. Make that choice, and let me have my due. For now, I won't attempt to harm any of you. Only one being on this planet must be disciplined by me, and he isn't a human."

For a few moments, She-Hulk wasn't sure what Galactus meant by that, until she saw the Silver Surfer, rising up towards Galactus' position in the sky. Those two, she suspected, would have some things to discuss. In a moment, both had vanished into the hatch that had opened in the ship, which had surrounded Earth so completely, and then the ship began to rise upwards, away from New York, seeming to fold itself outwards as it did so, like a huge, mighty hand, loosening its grip on Planet Earth. When it rose out of sight, fading away into Earth's atmosphere, not a single person in the world spoke until it was completely gone.

* * *

"Avengers route Galactus; save the world."

Tony Stark couldn't help but smile as he read those words in his evening copy of the Daily Bugle. It was nice to get a little credit for the things they did, although Galactus' arrival and subsequent departure from Earth certainly hadn't been without consequences. There had been quite a few riots that the Avengers hadn't been able to stop, and a lot of looting that was still being sorted out. However, it seemed that since the Galactus incident, crime rates were starting to drop even further. Tony wasn't sure why. Maybe people were starting to come to a better understanding of their own mortality. The thought cheered him up a little.

However, as Tony was thinking about those things, folding up the newspaper as he walked towards the front door of the Avengers' Mansion, he heard two voices from the direction of the mansion's main entryway.

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Probably not. I suspect that I'm not yet ready to understand the answers you've given me. If I ever begin to grasp them, I'll address you again, but I think that may not be for a long, long time. Some part of me suspects that you're simply playing some kind of sick joke on me."

Tony was surprised, because although the first voice belonged to She-Hulk, the second was a voice he'd never heard before in his life. Quickly, he rounded the corner just in time to see a stranger in a hat and coat, with a thick, white mustache leaving through the front door of the mansion, taking only a moment to glance back, and not looking the least bit worried when he did. By the time the stranger had left, Tony Stark wasn't sure whether there was something wrong, or whether Jennifer's guest had been just that; a guest.

"Jennifer." Tony said, as he approached a little closer, looking up into the bright green eyes of the powerful Avenger, "Good evening. Who's your friend?"

"Friend?" Jennifer asked, looking a little surprised for a moment, but then she smiled after a few seconds, and replied, "No. He's not a friend. Just a stranger. He just heard about how I broke into Galactus' ship, and he had a few questions."

Tony couldn't help but take an interest in that, however.

"Questions?" Tony asked, "What kind of questions?"

"He wanted to know about the nature of the universe." She-Hulk replied in a voice that sounded almost casual, as she spoke.

In that moment, Tony Stark remembered what he'd been told about the way that She-Hulk had helped the save the world; the cosmic awareness she'd used to enter the ship of the world-devourer, and seize control of his weapons. No weapon in existence could have killed Galactus, but with that great, unexplainable knowledge, She-Hulk had been able to find his weakness. It hadn't occurred to Tony Stark until just then that She-Hulk's great knowledge might have been useful for other things as well; philosophical things, which man had been wrestling with for centuries.

"So..." Tony said after a few seconds, "Did you tell him the nature of the universe?"

"Sure," She-Hulk replied, "but I don't think he believed me. He was expecting a much more complicated answer."

Tony fell silent for another few seconds, but just as She-Hulk was turning to leave, he knew that he couldn't hold his own questions back.

"Jennifer..." Tony said, "What is the nature of the universe?"

For a few moments, Jennifer looked a little bewildered, but a frown crossed her face, just as she was about to speak.

"I'm afraid you're not going to like the answer." Jennifer replied sadly.

"Are things really that bad?" Tony asked, starting to feel concerned.

"That's not what I mean." Jennifer replied, however, "Mister Stark, you're looking for some kind of philosophical explanation for your existence, and the existence of the world you live in. I can tell you what the universe really is, but I'm afraid you wouldn't find my answer very enlightening, even if you accepted it at face value. It's a hopeful answer, but it's also extremely simple. In fact, it's so simple, that I doubt anything about your life will change once you know the truth."

Tony sighed, and braced himself for a disappointment, as he said, "That's alright. I guess I'd still like to know, even if the answer isn't really useful for anything."

"The truth is..." She-Hulk said, looking grim, "time is an aspect of space, and space is the fruit of thought in a causality void. To put it in its simplest terms, Mister Stark, the universe is nothing more than a series of thoughts, channeled into a realm where they could be given physical form. For some reason, I have the ability to hear those thoughts, though I can't explain how or where I got it from. We exist because someone, somewhere thinks that we do. There's nothing more to it."

"What?" Stark asked, confused, "Are you saying that we're imaginary? That doesn't make any sense. I'm perfectly real. I have feelings, senses, and memories of my whole life."

"I'm not really sure how to answer that." She-Hulk said after a moment, "I haven't completely been able to interpret the thoughts I've been reading, but it seems like the line between reality and imagination isn't as distinct as we've always believed. Imaginary thoughts, worlds, and beings are no less real; they just exist in different... Well, different realms, really. I think, in time, we might discover that nearly everything in existence is both real and imaginary, but as I said, that's no kind of help to philosophers."

"Yeah." Tony noticed, "I guess you're right. I was sort of hoping for something that was at least a little encouraging."

"Huh?" She-Hulk asked, "Well, heck. I can tell you something that's encouraging. I know a lot about the thoughts that created our universe, and the person or persons they belong to. I can tell you this much for sure; the creator of the universe cares about us. We've gone through hard times and big tragedies, but we've come through stronger in the end, and I'm sure that things are going to turn out alright. It's not specific enough to encourage most people, but to me, it's a big relief to know that."

Anthony Stark said good-bye to Jennifer just a moment later, and returned to his own home, but for some reason, he didn't feel the least bit encouraged by what Jennifer had said.

* * *

The Stranger had been sitting in the library for hours, lost in thought over his recent experiences, and disappointed over how little reliable information he'd been able to acquire from She-Hulk. After a while, however, he could hear the sounds of footsteps approaching him from across the room, and soon, there was the bald man with the pale eyes; the Watcher.

The Watcher seated himself across from the Stranger, looking a bit curious.

"I see you're not satisfied by what happened." the Watcher said, "Is mankind's destruction really so important to you?"

"Hardly." the Stranger replied, "In fact, at this point, I've discarded all my previous theories about the nature of the human species' behavior patterns. Right now, the information I've received is dominating my thoughts, and I'm afraid it may just be some kind of sick joke at my expense."

"How so?" the Watcher asked.

"While it's true that some beings can change one kind of matter into another, such as ourselves," the Stranger replied, "that process is typically accomplished through energy, power, or magic. Thought alone can't create matter. It's absurd."

"It does seem unlikely." the Watcher replied, "Still, I've long suspected that the universe was founded in a causality void. Since I'm incapable of existing without my physical body, I wasn't able to verify it, but it's quite possible that the universe is just as she told you, and we're simply not beings of a high enough order to prove it."

For a few moments, the Stranger was silent, but when he spoke again, he sounded upset with the Watcher.

"Why did you interfere in their conflict?" the Stranger asked, "Why did you grant such a high level of awareness to the She-Hulk?"

"I did no such thing." the Watcher replied, "I haven't broken my vow. She-Hulk's awareness of the nature of the universe exceeds even my own. It's not something I'm capable of bestowing."

"So the real question is;" the Stranger said, looking deeply suspicious, "if you didn't grant her that level of awareness, who did?"

The Watcher, however, was silent. He didn't have an answer.

* * *

Widow placed a bowl of chicken soup on the Avengers' conference table, and started eating at almost precisely twelve forty-five in the afternoon. She'd been ignoring her hunger for a while, and it was nice to finally get the chance to eat something after working for so long. As Widow ate her soup, however, she heard someone approaching from nearby. Quickly, she glanced down at the conference table to see, in its well-polished surface, the reflection of Crystal near the door behind her.

"Crystal." Widow said, in between spoonfuls of her soup, "Is there something you need to talk about?"

"You probably know this already," Crystal said, "but I heard that Reed and Sue are planning on getting married."

"I've been expecting that to happen for a while now." Widow replied, trying her best to smile, "Also, from what I've heard, She-Hulk's relationship with the Mole Man is becoming a little more serious. They went on their first real date three days ago, though the Mole Man insisted on calling it a courtship. I can't really blame him for wanting things to be formal. He is a king, after all."

Crystal was silent for a while longer, though Widow knew that something was up. Sighing for a moment, Widow asked the question that Crystal inevitably wanted her to.

"So how's Johnny taking it?"

"He's still a little upset." Crystal replied, "I think he respects my decision, but it'll probably take him a while before he can talk to me like a friend again."

"Some men are like that." Widow replied, "They invest a lot of their feelings into a relationship, and then, if it doesn't work out, they have a hard time getting those feelings back. Speaking of which, your relationship with Namor...?"

Crystal blushed for a moment, but after a short time, she said "I guess I couldn't hide anything from you, huh?"

Widow just shook her head.

"It's weird, actually. I was thinking of putting that on hold until the Avengers have their whole group dynamic back in order," Crystal explained, "but then, Namor told me that the Avengers never really had a group dynamic per se; that we were brought together by our mutual desire to be with others like ourselves, and to do good things for the world. He mentioned that Johnny Storm had previously fought with both him and the Mole Man, and that because of that, there was a sort of enmity floating around in the Avengers long before I'd broken up with Johnny, but he'd put it aside, because his personal feelings just weren't as important as doing the right thing. When I heard him say that, I knew that I could trust Johnny to act as part of the team, regardless of how he felt about our relationship. Namor and I are planning on going out tonight. There's a sandwich shop about five miles from the edge of town, that he says is very good."

"My knowledge of sandwich shops isn't exactly extensive." Widow admitted, "Are you planning on taking one of the fliers?"

"Only part of the way." Crystal replied with a sheepish-looking grin, "I thought that when I got into the open areas outside of town, I'd... Well, I thought I'd walk the rest of the way."

When Crystal said that, however, Widow truly did smile, which was rare for her. She was pleased by the way that Crystal had developed as a person.

"Good luck." Widow replied, just as Crystal left the room with a broad, confident smile on her face.

* * *

Crystal parked her flier behind a small building near the edge of town, looking around for a moment, to make sure that no one had seen where she'd hidden it. A few moments later, she emerged from behind that same building, and started out across the open fields.

Crystal was fascinated when she thought about everything that had happened to her. At first, she'd been a royal, protected and sheltered inside a secluded society. Once outside, however, everything had seemed so wonderful, strange and new. The accomplishments of humans were like a fresh and complex pattern; made from works of art. Crystal had wanted to see every one of humanity's accomplishments, and marvel at the funny things that humans had made for themselves.

Even after living among them for so many months, Crystal still marveled at the buildings of humans, their vehicles, their medicine, technology, and the food they ate. It was all strange and wonderful to her, like the behavior of a newborn. Most importantly, Crystal didn't feel shy or worried anymore. She was ready to stand up, and be herself; doing what she knew was right, regardless of how others might react. She wasn't going to be ashamed of herself, or what she could do anymore.

With a smile, Crystal took one step in the direction of the restaurant, watching the distance start to shrink away. Then, she took another step, and another. By the time Crystal had taken five steps towards the restaurant, she could see that it was a lot closer than it had been before, and she knew that it wouldn't take more than a minute to reach it, because she'd risen up to an enormous height, as she left town, and got out of the way of the buildings.

Crystal looked down in wonder at the houses and cars that she passed on the way to her first real date. When she was so much bigger, the humans all looked a lot smaller, and yet, in a way, that made them seem even more wonderful, important, and amazing than ever. It thrilled her through and through, as she continued onward and upward, further and further...

* * *

End

* * *

Well, there's a hundred excuses that I could make right here, but why make excuses? It's been a good run, and I've been doing the Marvel Universe Neo for over two years. I'd love to be able to continue it forever; to keep pointing out where Marvel went wrong, and what they could have done to add richness and joy to their universe, instead of torturing it, but for a couple reasons, I just can't. For one thing, doing two volumes a month gobbles up much of my free time and creative energies, and I'm trying to get some of my original fiction published soon. For another thing, the "friend" who I originally wrote these for refuses the read them, or even look at them.

I have more story ideas, of course; Nick Fury's introduction, the resolution of the green goblin plot line, the marriage of Sue and Reed, and so on and so forth. I'll probably share a few of those plot ideas in a month, when I post the final issue, but I thought I'd give notice about this.

I need to be able to survive somehow, and writing is the only real skill that I have. I just hope these stories have made their mark, and will not be wasted.

-Bra1n1ac-


	27. Issue 27: Hope

Tales From the Marvel Universe Neo

Issue 27

"Hope"

* * *

Doctor Doom frowned as he headed back down to the containment cells for the second time that week. He'd been trying to get straight answers from his prisoner for over a month, and yet, she didn't seem to respond to typical tactics, like threats or solitary confinement. It was almost as if she really were the genuine article.

Soon, Doom was looking into the transparent cell, and there sat the prisoner. Her bright, red hair hadn't grown much longer in the month since she'd gotten into Castle Doom, and been captured by his security devices. In fact, she looked almost exactly the same as she had when he'd locked her in there; still defiant, and determined to give away nothing.

"You've been in there long enough, haven't you?" Doom asked, his words just managing to penetrate the enclosure in which Natalia Romanova was being kept, "Don't you think you'd better tell me who you are, and what you want."

"As I've already said," the woman replied, "who I am is obvious, and as for what I want, I simply can't reveal that."

Doom was starting to feel intensely frustrated by Natalia's continual resistance to his inquiries, and yet, there was only one conclusion that made sense. After all the tests, all the tricks, all the ploys to get more information, Doom was convinced that he knew the truth about the woman sitting in that cell; a truth that no other man on planet Earth would ever have accepted.

"I'm surprised you're not willing to be more open with me." Doom said, a bit sadly, "You've really had very good luck; running into me before anyone else. As a scientist, I understand the full ramifications of contaminating the timeline, so that nothing you tell me will impact my decisions in the slightest. However, if you decide not to tell me anything, I'm afraid that the puzzle of who you are, and where you came from will haunt my thoughts, and it may cause me to make a mistake that I didn't make in the previous timeline."

As Doom spoke, Widow's eyes narrowed, and he knew he'd come to the right conclusion. Somehow, the Widow who sat in the cell in front of him wasn't the one from his time; the one who'd played such a pivotal role in stopping him from conquering the world. She was a time-traveler from the future, though how far into the future, Doom couldn't say. Having designed the first time-travel device personally, Doom knew that it was indeed possible, and had no difficulty imagining someone else misusing his machine.

Still, Doom reasoned, if he could have picked any one person to send through time aside from himself, it would have been Widow. Her emotionless nature and ironclad sense of reason would have ensured that no matter what happened, she wouldn't risk contamination to the timeline, and when Doom had spoken to her about what effect her presence had already had on him, she seemed to realize the truth of what he was saying. The timeline was contaminated already. The best she could do was try to contain the damage, and she couldn't do that from inside a cell. Though the two were enemies, she had no choice but to take Doctor Doom into her confidence.

"Alright." Widow replied, "I'll tell you where I came from, and why I'm here. I'll also tell you everything you'll need to know to maintain the timeline the way it is. I'm afraid that amounts to a great deal of information, however. Your role in the history of mankind has been a very large one. However, when I've finished telling you all of that, you have to promise to let me out of this cell, and work together with me in helping to repair the damage."

Doom simply nodded silently in reply, as he listened to Widow's words with rapt attention.

"It hasn't been that long since Galactus left planet Earth, has it?" Widow asked, trying to get her bearings.

"Around a month." Doom replied with another nod, "He left at approximately the same time you arrived."

"In that case, I've come from about eighty years and three months into your future." Widow explained, though Doom found that a little surprising.

"You've aged well." Doom remarked suspiciously.

"Naturally." Widow admitted, "I age very slowly. I do, Miss Marvel does, Fury does, you do..."

"I do?" Doom asked, starting to feel puzzled, "What do you mean?"

"Apparently, within five years of the departure of Galactus, you're going to stumble onto the secret that was used to lengthen my own lifespan, and apply it to yourself. However, you won't share that secret with anyone else for a long time."

"Is there any record of how I came across your secret?" Doom asked immediately, at which point, Widow shook her head.

"You never kept a record of those experiments." Widow said, but just then, her expression started to take on a dumbfounded flavor.

"That much is obvious to me, then." Doom replied casually, "I assist you with repairs to the timeline, and you give me the secret of your longevity in exchange."

"So it seems." Widow muttered silently, "For some reason, that possibility didn't occur to me until just now."

"You're still accustomed to thinking in a linear sense." Doom replied, "I'm sure you'll get better at predicting these things soon. What else do I need to know about the future?"

"First, that no matter what else I tell you, you must continue to make plans against the superhumans for the next five years." Widow explained, "Your fights with them are a part of history that was documented very well, and removing those fights might prevent the future from turning out the way it did."

"You see, Doom, you and a number of other people and threats gave the Avengers something to defend people from. After a while, nobody questioned the loyalty of the Avengers, and the social climate of the world had been changing pretty drastically. You saw what was going on, and you could barely believe it, but after those first five years, you stopped trying to take over the world. When you were asked why, you said that it was because the Earth didn't need your help as desperately as it once had, and that it was only a matter of time before despots and unfair rulers all over the world died out."

"The Avengers were doing their job extremely well in the meantime, continuing to save people from disasters and criminals, and every time they did, Miss Marvel, Captain America, or one of the others would say a few words about what factors had led to the disaster or the crime. They'd assure people that the Avengers believed in helping to solve the problems that led to such crimes and disasters, but they couldn't do it alone. Then they'd explain what people could do in their own lives to help prevent things like that from ever happening again."

"From anyone else, statements like that would have come across as presumptuous, but people listened to the Avengers because of all the good they'd done in the past. Pretty soon, there were massive social changes happening all over the world, as people followed the team of heroes that had always tried to help them; the people they were sure they could trust."

"It was such a powerful movement, that seven years from today, the U.N. demanded to have Doctor Strange brought before the assembly of the world governments. They asked him why he and the Avengers were teaching morals to the people, and Strange replied that it was the secondary purpose with which the Avengers had been founded; not just stopping crimes, but helping to prevent them at the very source; the soul."

"They really got mad after that. They told Strange, in no uncertain terms, that he was forbidden to use his position to preach his own idea of right and wrong. However, Strange flat-out refused to follow that order. He said that they only wanted him to stop, so that they could control people's conduct instead, and I think he was directing that remark pretty sharply at the president of the United States."

"Strange had been at odds with the president a lot in the past. They'd never directly opposed each other before, but the president seemed to want public opinion to go one way, and as long as Strange was around, it persistently went in the other direction. They were enemies in a sense, though not openly."

"Eventually, Strange left that meeting by conjuring up a portal back to the headquarters of the Avengers, and that was when the world governments decided that they had to do something to try to earn the people's trust again."

"The government had had a new type of weapon in their warehouses for a while called a sentinel. Some looked like helicopters, others looked like tanks, but they all had one thing in common; they possessed true artificial intelligence, and they had the ability to think and reason with the speed of a computer. The government deployed quite a number of them as peace-keepers, to try to take the place of the Avengers, and if they'd just left it at that, things might have gone their way, but the higher-ups were so frustrated by the Avengers, that they personally started pointing out where they wanted the sentinels to be deployed next. If they'd put their trust in the intelligence of the sentinels, they might actually have won the trust of the people too."

"You see, the sentinels weren't really that much more effective than regular tanks or helicopters in battle. They had many weapons on board, but their real strength was in their ability to reason out complex plans in the blink of an eye. Because they were being forced to follow the orders of their superiors, rather than drawing plans in response to the situation, that advantage of theirs basically ceased to exist. It wasn't a competition between the Avengers and the sentinels. It was another stage of the rivalry between the Avengers and the world governments."

"That rivalry continued for about three more years, by which point the public in general trusted the Avengers much more than the sentinels, or even the government itself. Well, the world government leaders met again to decide what to do. Things weren't going their way, so rather than re-examining their tactics, and trying to find alternative solutions, they decided to simply smash the Avengers."

"The orders of the sentinels were changed, and they were instructed to hunt down and destroy any Avengers they met, using the excuse that the Avengers were a vigilante force that had to be stopped. A conglomeration of politicians, judges, and businesspeople were responsible for that decision, and it was only a matter of time before the public heard about it."

"Only a small percentage of the people in the world were pleased to hear what their governments were planning. Most people were horrified by the idea of the Avengers being killed or imprisoned, since they hadn't done anything wrong. There were only a few world governments that refused to take a militant stand against the Avengers at that point; Attilan, Atlantis, Subterra, Switzerland, Malta, the Vatican, France..."

"And Latveria." Doom concluded with a satisfied grin, which was well-concealed behind his mask.

"That's right." Widow said, "In fact, that was the first moment when the public of most of the world really saw eye to eye with you. You made your own stand at that time, saying that Latveria would be a haven if the Avengers should ever need it, and that not only were you pleased by their successes, but you'd be honored if they would treat you as one of them from that point on."

"Their victories must have been magnificent to elicit such a reaction from me." Doom said, starting to view the story with skepticism again.

"I remember the letter you sent to the world leaders word-for-word." Widow replied, "If you want, I'll recite it to you."

Doom just nodded once in reply, and soon, Widow had started reciting the apparent words of his future self.

"Naturally, I've been observing your decisions for quite some time now," Widow recited, "so it was only a matter of time before news of the vigilante agreements reached my ears. I can't say I'm too surprised to hear of you taking that tack, but I'm most displeased by this news as well. In the past, I've viewed myself as the only powerful person in the world who could be trusted, as well as the only world leader who still took action solely for the benefit of the people he governs. I've never been more convinced of the latter, or less convinced of the former than I am today."

"Though the Avengers have impeded my efforts many times in the past, I am a scientist, and I must look at this objectively. Time and time again, they've gone out into the world, doing battle with criminals, daemons, monsters, and aliens; risking their lives in a way that none of you have ever dared, and time and time again, they've saved the world on which we live, and asked for nothing in exchange."

"Though I considered them naive and misguided, I never once doubted that they were heroes, and I honored what they fought for; their wish to inspire the people of the world; to earn their trust, and in time, to help teach them the true difference between right and wrong, without the war and conquest that I've always viewed as necessities. I thought it was a fool's errand, of course, but I honored their determination, even while we fought."

"However, it's been a long time since I trusted, or felt any need to honor the leader of another nation. On the whole, I've found that leaders make far too many mistakes, not merely in terms of how to distribute the proper resources, but in trying to tell others what's right and wrong. That is not the job of a leader. No man can dictate what the right thing to do is. Reality itself does that. Empirical data alone can give us that answer. Leaders so often try to please one group, while alienating another; they bar off an opportunity which would be good for people, or adversely, more often, they afford people a freedom they do not benefit from at all, leading to debauchery, waste, and an even greater danger for those who wish to live their lives right."

"Now, after all this time, the Avengers have done something that I thought was impossible. They've earned the trust of the public, and are poised, even now, to save the world from its greatest enemy; the simple lack of responsibility among mankind. They've given people such a great example, and such an incredible sight, that even now, the people of the world are longing to cast aside many of their pleasures, and many of the ways in which they've wasted their time, and assist others instead, following in the footsteps of the Avengers."

"The people of the world are beginning to truly understand their duty as human beings. It's the best the Avengers could have hoped for, and far more than I'd dared to consider possible. With their power, responsibility, and determination, the Avengers have reached a height where their words can be heard by people all over the world. Only a few nations remain culturally-unaffected by them, and the rest are ready to take the first steps into a better, more fulfilling way of life. They've hurt no one to get where they are, and they deserve to reap the rewards of that great struggle."

"You fear the influence that the Avengers now possess; the power to inspire people in their efforts to improve themselves. That's the real reason why you rush to condemn them as criminals. You're afraid that your positions of power will be meaningless in the world from now on. You're afraid that people will no longer listen to you, to your agents, your edicts, your bills, or your administrative decisions. You're afraid that you can't convince people to live your way if the Avengers have suggested a different way of life, and you're right to be afraid. More than anyone, I've learned the folly of trying to fight against them. Don't repeat my mistakes. This is an enemy that you simply can't defeat."

"Then you signed the letter with your name." Widow said as she finished that part of the tale, "That was what you told them."

"Amazing." Doom replied, in a voice that sounded truly shocked, "I'd never have believed it, but those do sound like words of mine. It's true then? In the end, the Avengers win their victory over the world? The victory I've always wanted?"

"Something like that." Widow replied, "There were a few nations whose people were so brainwashed, that they considered the Avengers' good deeds on their behalf insulting at the beginning, but a lot has happened since then."

"I think I know which nations you mean." Doom said, "Tell me what happened, however."

"Well," Widow said, "for about two years, the Avengers were considered criminals by the U.N., but as hard as the world leaders tried, they couldn't seem to bring even a single Avenger in. Even the sentinels just weren't powerful enough to do much against the people who'd defended Earth from Galactus. The technology available to the military just wasn't that advanced. On the other hand, it meant that the Avengers and the Fantastic Four needed to build a new headquarters that could be moved at any time, and Tony Stark was on the verge of being arrested for his involvement with the Avengers, except that by that point, nobody could find any proof that he'd been funding their efforts at all."

"After those first two years, things started to get complicated. It was becoming obvious that over ninety-nine percent of the people in America were on the side of the Avengers, and most people would have rushed to defend them in a fight. By that point, people were realizing the truth; that as much as the government had denied that it was possible for such a thing to exist, America had become an oppressive democracy, with the government selected by parties, voted into office by the people, and then forcing its will on the public."

"As the sense of oppression and cultural tension in America grew to an intolerable level, you released a new technology onto the international market. It was a small device, about the size of a compact disc, and it projected a field around whoever touched it, which caused refined metal to scatter in all directions away from the person if it got too close. Essentially, your machine made bullets, and other metal weapons useless, and it was very inexpensive to produce."

"Soon, lots of people started to get hold of your machine, all over the world, and the world governments started losing their primary advantage when it came to preventing rebellions. There was still tear gas and rubber ammo, of course, but public discontent was so great that your technology, though purely defensive, led to organized attacks against the governments belonging to the U.N., on the part of the world's people."

"It was your final victory. The Avengers tried to calm people down, but it was no use. There'd been a spirit of discontent brewing in people's hearts for a long time, and it wasn't just going to go away."

"The rebellions continued for almost another year before the world governments started to collapse. Between pursuing the Avengers in vain, and trying to hold off the furious public revolutions that had started as a result, they didn't have enough resources to be anything but rich bullies, and it all ended for America when a group of rebels actually succeeded in imprisoning the president."

"Miss Marvel moved in at around that time, trying to fix the situation somehow, but it was too late to salvage the American government. By that point, the house, senate, and the White House had all been occupied by the rebels, who were receiving help from nearby citizens whenever they needed it. Miss Marvel could have forced the rebels out of Washington, but she would have needed to kill to do that, and she wasn't that desperate. The people had made their choice. She made a report to the Avengers, and the decision that they eventually reached, was that they would try to continue spreading the word about right and wrong, and in the meantime, would act to prevent as many deaths as possible."

"That choice was made just in time, as the military started to make their move on the capital as well. For a while, the Avengers had their hands full, disarming the bombs and sentinels that had been acquired by both sides, and I'm sure many more people would have died in that fight if not for them."

"Ultimately, there was a man who'd been leading rebel troops during the battle; a man who was intelligent and eloquent. He said that the government in America had stopped functioning to serve its people a long time ago, and that it was time for a new constitution to be drafted. It was time, he said, for people to start doing what was really right with their lives."

"The person's name was Peter McMann, and when people heard him speak, they wanted to make him their new leader, but he didn't want them to fall into the same trap they had before, so he simply proposed a few changes."

"'The new constitution will govern what rights the people have, and what rights they don't have, outlining them in plain, black ink, like a legal document.' McMann insisted, 'Then, anything that violates a person's rights as stated will be a crime, and a matter for the legal branch. The main purpose of the document, however, will be to describe the difference between right and wrong. There will be no compromising once the document is finished, but I know we've all learned a lot, thanks to the Avengers. I'm confident that we can arrive at the right decision when we draft this document, with their help.'"

"At the time, most of the Avengers weren't sure how to handle the situation, but I went to speak with McMann, and I told him that the problem wasn't determining right and wrong, but explaining why some things were bad, and others good; how they helped or hurt people, and why certain courses of action should be avoided. I was the only one who really accepted the rebels as a legitimate form of government from the start."

"In the end, the entire government changed before our very eyes, into a new nation, called simply 'United America,' and most of the people living in the UA were a little surprised by the change in power. The remaining news networks kept trying to spin the rebellion into some kind of horror story about terrorism, but they only swayed a few thousand people. The Bugle, ironically, was one of the few papers that actually treated the whole situation fairly, as an expression of the discontent of the American people over their own government's actions."

"Before the new constitution was even drafted, however, there'd been similar rebellions in Russia, China, the United Kingdom, and a number of other places, all of which established new leaders for each of those territories, and new documents for the protection of their citizens. As much as most newspapers wanted to insist that the revolutions were the result of a few dangerous lunatics with no sense of right or wrong, none of those countries would have held together so well if the rebellions hadn't been driven by responsible men and women, who knew what they had to do."

"Many countries adopted new names during the revolutions. A few kept the same name, but changed a lot of other things about the way the nation was governed. After a few years, it became obvious that the new rebel governments were not only stable, but were founded in much more dependable values than the previous ones had been. That was when the war against the Avengers stopped."

"The governments of the world had been slamming their heads against the Avengers for over five years by that point, and they were gradually starting to realize that it wasn't doing any permanent harm to us. Their position of power had been great, but it hadn't been great enough to challenge the will of the human race, and so many people trusted us, that when the war against us ended, there were parties all over the world."

"Over eighty-five percent of the world's countries ceased all attempts to capture or kill us, and even began adopting laws and government systems much more similar to the ones the UA was using, though usually with the same leaders at the top. That was alright, though. By that point, leaders only really served to keep society running, and make sure that all the people in charge of resources and public services were doing their jobs. They had no authority to change the laws."

"What about the remaining fifteen percent of the world's countries?" Doom asked, "What happened to them?"

"They were full of people who'd been brainwashed since childhood into thinking that all good deeds from people outside their group were offensive because they were done for an ulterior motive." Widow replied, "I'm sure you know the type of mentality I'm talking about."

Doom just nodded, encouraging Widow to continue explaining herself.

"Well, from that point on, they continued to make attacks on the world outside their nations, but only against the Avengers." Widow explained, "They seemed to be aware that they couldn't break the spirit of the rest of the world unless they could break the Avengers, and that was obviously their objective for quite a while. Of course, you must realize how that turned out."

"They failed." Doom predicted, "They failed badly, time after time, doing no lasting damage to the Avengers or the rest of the world, and every time they made an attempt, more of them were apprehended."

"Right." Widow replied, "That led to numerous wars, but the rest of the world was on reasonably good terms by that point, and they'd formed alliances with the Avengers, and based on their example. Again and again, terrorist groups and murderous extremists tried to bring down members of the Avengers, but they could never succeed against even a single member. Every time they struck out, we simply defended ourselves, and captured our attackers in our own way, but we left it to the nations of the world and their armies to retaliate against specific terrorist groups if they really wanted to. It wasn't the job of the Avengers to go to war with an enemy nation. At least, that's what most of us thought."

"However, Captain America, Thor, Namor, and the Mole Man had different perspectives. Eventually, the four of them decided to retaliate against attacks directed at them. At the time, Captain America was a little upset that the other Avengers weren't willing to respond directly to the aggression of enemy nations, and maybe he was right to be angry, but because none of us retaliated, what happened to him sent a much clearer message."

"About two weeks after he'd made that decision, Captain America was attacked by a group of seven terrorists armed with light weapons. He defeated them all, of course, and was able to tie them up within fifteen minutes of the time when the attack began, but when he brought them to the local police station, to try to have them detained, he discovered that there weren't enough cells at that station to hold his captives."

"I'm sure that must have made him feel pretty helpless, because his homeland just wasn't equipped to handle all the enemies it had. Captain America radioed for Thor, and the two of them brought the captives back to the new headquarters of the Avengers, where it became obvious that even there, there wasn't enough room for them. Captain America was pretty upset, but he was determined not to let the belligerent killers go. He dragged them onto one of the jets that the Avengers used for travel to other sections of the world, and flew out over the ocean towards Europe, making contact with you on the way."

Doom's expression softened slightly, as he heard those words.

"Lots of people still didn't completely trust you, even after all you'd said and done on behalf of the Avengers," Widow continued, "but Captain America wanted to give you a chance, and he knew he needed your help. He asked you for help in providing prison facilities for merciless terrorists, and you agreed without asking any further questions about it. Looking back on it, I'm sure that you knew exactly what Captain America was planning to do, and didn't want to get in his way."

"That very day, Captain America left his captives with you, and made his way to the nation where those terrorists had come from. He was determined to track down and imprison the entire extremist organization, as well as everyone who'd helped to promote their violent; almost nihilistic philosophy in that part of the world, and then let everyone in that country know exactly what had happened. He'd landed on their soil before the sun had even set."

"Captain America sent the other Avengers one message before he left the jet, to search for the terrorists. He told the Avengers not to look for him, and that he'd return to America in ten days. Within three days, there were news reports coming in from that section of the world. Brief outbreaks of violence had broken out, then stopped within an hour. Terrorist leaders seemed to have found there way into Latverian prisons, and more were arriving there every day."

"Captain America was massacring what little structure the terrorist group had had, and within five days of the message he'd sent to us, the remains of that group had started scattering in fear, as their leaders had vanished without a trace. Even then, however, they weren't safe. As far as I can tell, there wasn't a single one who escaped from Captain America by the end of his eighth day in that country."

"After that, however, even more people disappeared; the dictator of a neighboring nation, and several key people in his cabinet and military vanished, presumably to end up in the prisons in Latveria, and it was only then, at the end of his tenth day in that nation, that Captain America spoke to the people of that region, using a powerful radio broadcast, and a note sent to the few stable newsletters in the region."

"'Many of your people have decided that they need to scatter the people of the free world, and start killing them in order to get what they want.' Captain America said in that broadcast, 'As long as the Avengers exist, you're going to find it impossible to divide us, though, and I think you know that. That's why you attacked me. However, your attack not only failed, it provoked me into retaliating. The entire group that attacked me is imprisoned now, and I can assure you that none of them will ever hurt anyone else as long as they live. I haven't given them the satisfaction of a death in battle, and I haven't let them kill anyone else as I've been abducting them, but my greatest victory of all is that as I've been doing these things, this whole time, it's been very, very easy.'"

"'Maybe you're under some kind of false impression about the position you're in at this point. You want to kill your enemies? You want to die in battle? Sorry, but you don't get that choice. I'm one of the least powerful members of the Avengers, and I can afford to threaten you all by saying that if another attempt is made on my life, I'll come right back here and do the same thing all over again. I'll gather you up like spilled coins, and then you'll be at my mercy, and not one of you will have the chance to kill or be killed. You don't live in that kind of world anymore. Like it or not, you're going to be living in peace from now on. The only choice you get is whether you want to live in peace in your homeland, or in a cell in some far-off country you've never visited.'"

"'I don't care who you are, and I don't care who you think you serve. I'm Captain America. I represent a world of freedom and peace, and you're not going to overcome me or any of the other Avengers. You're too weak.'"

"Of course, everyone all over the world heard Captain America's message, and while a few in the free world found the message a little scary, the ones who were really terrified by it were the leaders and extremists of the enemy nations. Many of their teachers and authority figures had been captured during Captain America's initial assault, and for the first time, those nations hesitated on the brink of war, because they knew that Captain America had been telling the truth."

"I'm sure Captain America's words had been intended to get a reaction, rather than being an expression of any real contempt, but it doesn't really matter. He got pretty much the best reaction he could have hoped for, because there was a three-month pause in the fighting in all of the nations of the world that hadn't made peace with each other."

"For hundreds of years, they'd mercilessly made war on anyone who wasn't part of their group, teaching their children that all outsiders and nonbelievers had been cursed, and had to be killed. The bloodthirsty, violent mentality that had been created by those teachings had led them into war after war, multiplying, killing and being killed with brutal efficiency, and always having just enough time to pass the hate and violence on to another generation."

"They were used to the idea of fighting with an enemy that could kill them, and everyone they knew with the push of a button, but the Avengers were a different sort of enemy entirely. Suddenly, there was an enemy who no effort seemed to be able to overcome; whose weakest member could overcome their best operatives with ease, hunt them down, and force them to remain alive when the battle was over. It was, for them, the grimmest possible situation, and they made a number of choices as a result of that."

"A lot of extremist groups died unexpectedly at around that time, seemingly at each other's throats. Others continued trying to organize standard efforts against the Avengers after the end of the three-month period, while joining forces with other groups in an attempt to defend themselves from retaliation. It didn't work. The Mole Man proceeded to capture three separate alliances of that sort by himself, before typical attacks like those stopped completely. After that, there was one more tactic that had to be dealt with, though."

"About eight percent of the nations left in the world still couldn't accept the idea of living in peace with us, so they started working together with the Hand, and a few of our other old enemies, to attempt to design some means of creating artificial metahuman powers. We hunted them down, but eventually, they were successful in creating a few new metahumans, devoted completely to destroying the people who thought that it was alright to live peacefully, starting with the Avengers."

"Thor and Miss Marvel descended on them at once, while Ghost Rider, myself, and a few others started rounding up the last of the people behind the militant movements in the enemy nations. By that point, Captain America had thrown down the gauntlet, and we knew that we had to commit, and start doing our part to put an end to that last big conflict, which we referred to as the fourth World War. We succeeded eventually, rounding up the people who'd been in charge of the superhuman experiments, and defeating, then imprisoning the few metahumans they'd successfully created. By that point, all of the Avengers were convinced of your good intentions, Doom. You'd been accepted, not only as an ally, but as one of the Avengers yourself."

"There was just one problem. The machine that the terrorist leaders had used to create their own superhumans had been hidden somewhere, and none of us were able to find it. The terrorist leaders, though they'd been captured, along with most of their followers, insisted on threatening us; telling us that in time, others would discover the machine, and a new wave of superhuman power would sweep us all away. I doubted that the threat was really as serious as he claimed, but still, I didn't want to leave such a dangerous weapon just lying around. The problem was, I didn't have any sure means of tracking it down."

"However, there was one factor that none of us had dared to count on for help. Ever since the fight with Galactus, the Silver Surfer had been near the Earth, and traveling across the solar system, having apparently lost the ability to reach other star systems. He'd made contact with numerous people since the departure of Galactus from planet Earth, but he'd never taken any action to help one side in a conflict, or to oppose another side. He'd seemed very much like a pacifist to the casual observer, refusing to take part in any conflict between one group of human beings and another. However, thanks to a young lady from New York, who the surfer had once confided in, I knew a few things about his history that led me to believe otherwise."

"The surfer originally came from a planet called Zenn-La, which, it seems, was beautiful and serene. His people had lived in peace for a long time before he'd even been born, and it seems that they'd perfected a system of teaching their children proper values through love and discipline. Eventually, the children learned the futility of violence, the dignity of hard work, the joy of accomplishments, and the beauty of nature. They learned to love all the peaceful, pleasant sensations that they experienced in a spiritual sense, which, combined with their continuing determination to work hard for their own good, and a commitment to generosity, led each and every one of them to fulfillment and enlightenment by the time they were thirty, and most discovered those things before that time."

"That was the reason why the Surfer chose to pass judgment on Earth originally. In spite of all the horrors he'd witnessed, he was still viewing the universe from the perspective of the high values that he'd held on his own homeworld."

"When the Silver Surfer heard about the device that was threatening our chances for peace, he immediately took action, using his inhuman senses to track it down, then destroying it with his power cosmic. We hadn't expected him to help us, because as far as we knew, he never had in the past, but when he delivered the final blow to our enemies, we knew that we had to at least talk to him."

"Eventually, Miss Marvel was able to find the Silver Surfer, and the two had a discussion, in which she asked, more that once, if he'd be willing to join the Avengers. It took him a while, but eventually, he agreed, saying that he wanted the chance to enjoy a life of peace, but that even on Zenn-La, there had been some who'd needed to learn the art of war, so that peace could be maintained."

"He had so much power, he said, that it would have just been selfish to refuse, and from that point, he came to be known as one of the most respected members of the Avengers."

"After that, a lot happened. Terrorist groups either died off or dissolved, evil religious dogmas faded into thin air, as people realized that there was no way for them to be fulfilled, and after about fifteen more years, a single alliance was honored by every authority and legal system worldwide. Not every authority answered to that one alliance, but they all treated it with respect."

"Of course, even in the time I come from; eighty years into your future, people are still people, and there are still crimes to be solved, but at least the world governments seem to be doing their job, for the moment. A lot of careful dividing of resources has led to a significant decrease in starvation over the last fifty years alone, and of course, the crime rate isn't what it was. Terrorism is virtually dead, since nobody's gotten away with it for several decades, and political corruption is limited, since politicians have no real power over the laws. Even the judges seem to be mostly behaving themselves, and it's become illegal to teach anything in public schools unless it has a potential usefulness of some sort that can be proven to exist."

"Based on that, most theoretical sciences are saved for college, while the so-called 'health classes' of your time period have faded away into nothing, being replaced by physical education classes again. Of course, what really matters is that people finally have the chance to work together in peace, without killing each other, or feeling as if they've contributed to killings. There are still divisions, even in the time I come from, of course. People argue with each other over ideologies, religions and philosophies, but in doesn't escalate into violence, because there's no opportunity for it. They know they can't take things that far."

After she'd finished explaining all that, Widow fell silent, and Doom spent several seconds contemplating what she'd just told him.

"Yes..." Doom admitted, "That's a very hopeful tale you've told me. Still, you know that I have to view it as nothing more than that; just a tale. I can't be certain that any of that will happen in my future."

"You'll only be certain when it actually does start to happen in eight years," Widow replied, "but for right now, I need your help."

"Alright." Doom said, allowing his muscles to relax just a little, "What do you need my help with?"

"In two weeks, Anna-Marie Darkholme is going to be sentenced to an imprisonment term of eighty years without any news of the outside world." Widow explained, "It's something like solitary confinement, except that the Avengers will be in charge of it, since the government doesn't have the resources to keep her imprisoned."

"In my time period, Anna Marie finished her prison term, then immediately flew off towards Westchester. She found, at the time, that the X-men she'd known were long-dead, and that the Xavier Institute was being run by a mutant named Bishop, who was an heir to Xavier's legacy of teaching mutants to coexist peacefully with the rest of humanity. As a mutant herself, Anna might have welcomed the chance to learn from Bishop, but instead, she took off for Latveria, and broke into your castle while you were away, using your time machine to reach this point in history. I'm convinced that there's something about the past that she wants to change, but I'm not sure what it is, exactly. Of course, whatever it is, we have to stop her."

Doom seemed to be thinking about that carefully for a while, but at last, he shook his head.

"You're forgetting the issue of my longevity, and subsequent acceptance of your accomplishments." Doom said, "I wasn't aware that time travel could be used that way, but it seems that traveling through time doesn't necessarily endanger the present timeline."

"What?" Widow asked, finally starting to look confused, "Are you referring to the concept of a temporal paradox?"

"Yes." Doom replied, "It's the greatest possible danger in time travel. As I'm sure you know, a temporal paradox is when someone alters the past in such a way that it changes their own past, preventing them from traveling back in time to begin with. They go back in time, therefore they don't, therefore they do, etc, with each timeline looping into the other. Since our perceptions of time can't proceed past a certain point, without looping into the other timeline, time as we know it ceases to pass at all, and the universe would come to a very abrupt end. That, in turn, might cause a reverse causality backlash that would prevent the universe from ever having come into being, due to the annihilation of the eventual cosmic black hole that causes matter to travel forward through time."

Finally, Widow was out of her depth. Doom had clearly thought much more deeply about temporal theory than she had. In terms of strategy, determination and cunning, Widow was the closest thing Doom had to an equal, but he was definitely superior in his understanding of science.

"However, my experiences with time travel have, so far, taught me that temporal paradoxes aren't such easy things to stumble upon." Doom explained, "The first time that I used time travel, I went back in time to the days of Blackbeard the pirate, and received from him the Obsidian Stone. In the process of retrieving it, we were attacked, and two of his ships were lost. Even so, I got what I'd been after, and nothing about the history books changed from what I remembered reading. To me, this says one thing; the universe has some means of defending itself from temporal paradoxes. When you told me about how I discovered the secret of your lifespan, that only reinforced me in my believe that the universe is fully capable of protecting itself from any meddling with time that we might do. I've suspected it for quite a while, but now I'm certain of it."

"Maybe the universe is," Widow replied, "but I'm not the universe, and neither is the human race. If Anna's presence here does something to upset the future that I come from at this pivotal period in history, it could change everything that I remember happening in my timeline. We could lose the peace that we had to work so long and hard to acquire. Do you really want to risk giving up on that, Doom?"

Doom closed both of his eyes in thought for just a moment, and when he spoke, there was a note of amusement in his voice.

"In other words," Doom said aloud, pleased by the situation he'd found himself in, "You're asking me to help you save the world."

"Yes." Widow insisted, "This might be the only hope that mankind has for peace, and I need your help to make it work out. Will you help me, Doom?"

Doom didn't feel even the least bit reserved as he replied, "It's what I've wanted to do my whole life."

* * *

Within ten minutes, Doom and Widow were traveling out from his castle in an aircraft of his own design. Widow had gotten back the equipment that had been taken from her when she'd been captured, and she was already using a small device to track large energy signatures all over planet Earth. Though he was busy piloting the aircraft, Doom took a moment to notice Widow's machine. It had a display screen, with what looked like a map of the world on it, and there were several bright lights scattered across that map, with four in particular that stood out.

"The biggest one is the Silver Surfer." Widow explained aloud, as she held her device out at arm's length for Doom to see, "He's not involved right now. The two in Manhattan have to be Thor, and the Anna from your time, and that means that the last one is the Anna Marie from my time period."

"Where is she?" Doom asked, glancing at Widow for a moment, but unable to read the display from where he was.

"From the looks of things... Westchester. Graymalkin Lane. That's the Xavier Institute." Widow replied, though even she couldn't suppress a feeling of worry as she realized that. Anna had attacked the X-men quite a few times before the arrival of Galactus, and if she was going after them again, it could seriously compromise the safety of Widow's timeline. The X-men had played a large part in saving the Avengers from a number of scrapes in her past; Doom's future. If Anna managed to wipe them out somehow, she'd end up destroying any chance to preserve the timeline.

Those were Widow's thoughts as she and Doom headed towards Westchester, and the girl who'd suddenly become so dangerous to the whole human race.

* * *

Laurie Banks wasn't feeling safe as she sat down to her computer that evening. There was nothing terribly strange about that, of course. It had been a while since she'd really felt safe, because she was unemployed. She'd been living off her savings for over a year, and it didn't seem likely that a wealth of job opportunities would open themselves to her in the meantime, which was a little sad, because that was what she would have needed. Laurie was a person with a lot of strong moral hang-ups. It was the reason she'd left her last job, and it was what was keeping her from finding a new one, but even if she starved to death, Laurie could never have turned her back on her morals. That was just the kind of person she was.

Having paid the rent once more, Laurie sat down to her laptop computer, with its built-in, wireless modem, and connected to the internet. The day had been hard for her, doing odd jobs for her neighbors, and chores for herself, but sitting down to her computer, about to start typing messages to others on the internet, Laurie's worries started to feel less important, as if she could just seclude herself away from them, though she knew that in reality, that was impossible.

In only a short time, Laurie had logged onto her favorite message board, called "The Mortal Dreamer's Board," which she visited several times a week when she could. It seemed to have been written by people with high ideals and big dreams, with the intention of attracting other such people. However, when Laurie had first started posting there, very few of the other posters had seen eye to eye with her. In fact, she'd shocked many of them quite a bit with her posts from day one.

"The first thing people need is a firm sense of reason, and a strong emotional attachment to morality." she'd posted in her first minute on the site, "They need to know what it means to walk through grass barefoot, breathe in the scent of life from the world around them, and coexist with less intelligent animals or plants, nurturing and helping them. If everyone could do that, they'd have an easier time appreciating how precious life is, and they'd probably be a lot more ready to cope with one another too."

Several people had responded to Laurie's first posts, telling her that was impossible or stupid, and that she was being too sentimental and soft, but one person, much more recently, had replied to say that he understood what she was saying completely, and demonstrated that understanding by expanding on those points. The other poster had then expressed, scientifically, that humans, and all other living things shared many common types of energy, which fed the universe itself from, the smallest being to the greatest, and that the human inability to accept its common brotherhood with the rest of the world, and indeed, the rest of existence, was the source of many of their own problems. Laurie could tell at once that she was going to like speaking to that person, whose screen name was "Starpoet5."

Laurie had been talking off and on with Starpoet5 for something in the neighborhood of a month, before one message on the board caught her eye.

"I've heard enough." Starpoet5 had posted, "I'm convinced that what you really want is a better world; a more fulfilled and pure world, or at least a place to live, which doesn't imprison those who want to live their lives justly."

"Yes." Laurie had replied to that with her next post, "That's exactly what I want. It's what I need. People will destroy you if you try to be compassionate and righteous. A better world is what's really needed."

"Or several worlds like that." was the reply, "You've convinced me of your sincere intentions. I'll try to find you."

Of course, Laurie may have been a dreamer, but she wasn't naive. At once, an image popped into her head of a man with a backpack and a beard; hitchhiking across the country in search of her, and even if Starpoet5 turned out to be trustworthy, that wasn't an image she liked, so Laurie replied to his post as quickly as she could.

"Sorry, but I never give out my address."

The reply she got to that, only moments later was brief and more than a little worrying, however.

"It's not necessary."

"Not necessary?" Laurie wondered aloud, as she stared at the screen in blank astonishment. How could it not be necessary? There was no way for him to find her without knowing her address, or if there was, it was a scary thought. Laurie wasn't sure how computer viruses worked, exactly. She suspected it wasn't possible to track a person down using one, but she wasn't sure enough to feel comfortable with the idea of someone over the internet telling her that he could find her without an address. Starpoet5 had seemed like Laurie's only real friend for quite a while, but suddenly, she was a little scared of him.

However, very shortly, Laurie's fear of the internet poster faded into nothingness, as she heard a noise outside of her window, that sounded like a very far-off whistling sound. The noise seemed to build after a while, as if it were getting closer to her, but still, nothing could have prepared her when the entire wall of her apartment started to change in consistency, rippling as she sat there, watching in terror. Laurie thought about getting up, running, or trying to get out of that apartment, but she was too scared by what she was seeing. She'd never seen anything quite like it before.

As Laurie watched the spectacle, held in place by fear, an object began to emerge into her room. It was big, thin, and silver, and after just a moment or two, she could see that there was a man riding on it; a man who was just as silver-colored as the board on which he rode. It was only then, as the apartment wall once again took on the consistency of hard wood and plaster, that Laurie started to realize what was really happening, and just who'd taken an interest in her. Like everyone, Laurie had heard of the Silver Surfer, but she'd never actually seen him in person before, and she was surprised and worried that she'd somehow drawn his attention.

"I'm sorry if my means of arrival surprised you." the Silver Surfer said in a shockingly-compassionate voice, as he noticed that she'd fallen from her chair in terror, "May I help you up?"

As the beautiful, majestic figure spoke, his gleaming, silver hand moved out towards her, and for a moment, all she could do was stare at its lustrous sheen, but at last, she reached out her own hand and took his, just a bit thankful for the assistance. Her reaction to his presence seemed to have cheered him up a little as well. At last, when Laurie was standing upright, the surfer dismounted from his board, and it floated, unattended, into one corner of the room.

"I... I never expected to meet you." Laurie stammered a little nervously, still not sure what to say to the former cosmic emissary, who was standing right in front of her, in the middle of her own apartment.

"Your words of compassion and good sense moved me." the Silver Surfer replied, "I had to seek you out. You're very different from other human beings, Laurie. You actually crave a better world, and believe that it can come about. Those traits are rare and precious. They should be treasured."

Laurie had always expected the Silver Surfer's voice to sound intimidating or threatening, considering how many people viewed him as a menace to society, but it was light, smooth, measured, and he sounded very young. In fact, his voice sounded boyish, in a way; almost like a teenager; unconcerned with the struggle for masculinity experienced by Earth-boys. His voice seemed so beautiful and light, that for a moment, Laurie hadn't really caught what he'd said.

"You mean you're Starpoet5?" She asked, stunned.

"That's right." the surfer said with a simple nod.

"I didn't even know you had a computer." Laurie remarked in amazement, forming a funny mental picture of the surfer trying to sit and type, but he just smiled in a jovial way, before he responded to that.

"I don't need a computer to interface with your networks." the surfer said, "I can access the internet by altering energy impulses with my power cosmic."

"That's amazing." Laurie replied, truly stunned, "Why... Why did you... I mean, I know you said you felt moved, but..."

For a few moments, the surfer's smile faltered, and he said nothing, but after about fifteen seconds, he spoke, looking a bit depressed.

"For many years, I've been alone; forced to do a job that I found repulsive and depressing without the comfort of another sentient being to confirm or reprimand me. On a night like this one, when the stars are most visible, I often wish for someone to speak to under the skies of a world. Over this last month, I've learned to trust your judgment, and the emotions that you feel also ring within my soul. If you don't mind, I'll like to talk with you about a few things."

Laurie was flabbergasted to suddenly find herself in such a position. The Silver Surfer might have been the most powerful person on Earth, and he was asking her for her advice. Laurie knew that she might never find herself in another position quite like that one, in which she had the chance to truly socialize with such a strong and influential being. The feelings that flowed through her in that moment were many and powerful. They came in so many different types, that she could barely count them all, and each was enormously strong. She couldn't say no to his request. Laurie just nodded for the moment, and the surfer seemed to take the nod in the way it was intended.

"Alright." the surfer said, the hint of a smile returning to his face, "The first question I want to ask is this; you must know at least part of what happened a month ago; the arrival of Galactus, and the way the Avengers succeeded in driving him back. Since then, I've been on and around the planet Earth for one of your months. Knowing all of that, what do you think of me?"

That was a big question to ask all at once, and Laurie wasn't quite sure how to answer it at first, but after thinking about it for just a moment, she opened her mouth to speak.

"Well, you helped the Avengers draw up their plans to get rid of Galactus, and you haven't hurt anyone since then." Laurie explained gradually, "On the other hand, you also drew Galactus towards Earth to begin with, and a lot of people think that makes you evil."

"Yes." the surfer acknowledged, with what looked like a sort of calm patience, "I know what those people think, but what do you think of me?"

That was the real question, of course, and it was the hardest one for Laurie to answer. For a while, she'd been a little scared of the Silver Surfer, just because of the power he possessed, and the fact that, at one time, he'd seemed willing to sacrifice the entire planet. There'd been a coldness to that fact, that she couldn't just ignore. Still, in the end, the surfer had decided to help the people of Earth fight against the world-devourer, and that was positive. Not only that, but if the Silver Surfer really was Starpoet5, and he really did feel all of the things he'd said that he felt, then it may have just been the frequent repression of good moral conduct in Earth's people that had shocked him into making such a dangerous decision at first. People had a tendency to ignore their place in the universe; to spurn morals and good sense, when they thought they could get pleasure, and even to infringe on the rights of other human beings if they enjoyed it, frequently using the word "freedom" as a banner.

There were a lot of potential reasons for jumping to the premature conclusion that the world wasn't worth saving. Laurie had noticed quite a few of them herself. In that respect, it seemed like the surfer might not really be so bad. He might, in fact, be a kindred spirit.

"It's complicated." Laurie responded at last, "You make me a little nervous, and I'm not sure why you made some of the choices you did in the past, but I guess the real reason why you made me so nervous just now is the way you burst into my apartment like you owned the place."

"Ownership shouldn't be a barrier between people." the surfer replied, though he sounded a little sad as he spoke, "It shouldn't serve to divide people from their fellow man. People should be generous with each other, without so much concern for their own possessions. That's what you said you believed in."

Laurie recognized those words, because she'd posted them herself on the very message board that both of them had frequented; the one where they'd met and become pen pals, in a sense. They were, she knew, words that she believed in, or at least, had always wanted to be able to believe in. It stunned her to hear the surfer reciting them like some kind of biblical passage.

"Are you saying that you believe that too?" Laurie asked, still amazed by the surfer's openness.

"Perhaps more than anyone on this world does." the surfer replied, "On my homeworld of Zenn-La, the claiming of property as a personal possession was permitted, but rarely done. My people just didn't want to divide themselves that way; into haves and have-nots."

"So you really believed in the things I was saying..." Laurie muttered in amazement, "In that case, I have to ask you something. When you first came to Earth, you tried to evaluate the human race, and you ended up passing judgment on us. Why?"

The Silver Surfer looked a little remorseful when he heard that question, and for a few moments, it seemed that even he had a hard time explaining all of his reasons.

"Galactus was going to enter this galaxy within three of your months, and at that range, he would have been able to sense your electronic signals to each other." the surfer started to explain, "There was always a risk of him learning of your existence, even without my help, and failing to trust me after that. I was afraid that if he didn't trust me, I'd never be able to save another world from him again, and I'd decided that I had the right to choose who lived and who died. That was my mistake, and I know I can never make up for it."

"Well, what I mean is," Laurie replied, trying to clarify her position, "Why did you eventually rule against the human race?"

"I didn't want to be like Galactus, and kill indiscriminately..." the surfer began, "which meant that I needed to come up with some very clear criteria for mercy. I was a person who loved planets, stars, and even empty space. It all seemed like a wonderful, unified force. Even once I learned the role that Galactus played in the universe, I was never any less compassionate, and I always felt some sadness over the loss of any planet."

"However," the surfer continued, "I eventually decided that I had a special attachment to intelligent life; people who were able to think and reason, and could make loving and wise decisions, as individuals, and as part of communities. Because of the danger of Galactus finding the Earth, even without my help, I'm afraid that my judgment was a bit harsher than normal, but my judgments were never light, because I compared each world I encountered to Zenn-La."

"When I guaged your world's strengths and weaknesses, I was drawing a comparison to a planet several thousand years more advanced than your own. That may be the reason I chose not to try to save your planet at first. I was shocked and appalled by the need and selfishness of planet Earth; the meaningless hatreds, the misinformed prejudices and the killing. The killing was the worst of all. I was horrified, and I reacted in horror. I know you've experienced similar feelings of revulsion over the viler deeds of your fellow man."

Laurie nodded. Initial revulsion, followed by the realization that life was still worth living were things she had lots of experience feeling. The only reason those feelings had been so much more dangerous in the surfer was because of his great powers. In that moment, Laurie realized that she and the Silver Surfer really were alike in many ways, and that was when she began to trust him.

"There's a great deal more I'd still like to talk about, if you don't mind..." the surfer remarked, "Would you like to go for a short flight? This environment is a very confining one for discussion."

It was definitely an odd and worrying offer. Laurie couldn't be sure what the surfer had planned, but when it came down to it, she'd been powerless ever since he'd entered her room, and going for a flight did sound like it might be fun.

* * *

Laurie Banks gasped aloud as the clouds whipped by around them. She could feel only a very light breeze passing through the shield that surrounded the surfer's board. It was just enough to make her hair and clothes flap a bit in the wind, and yet, according to the surfer, it was still more of a breeze than he usually allowed through. He'd been modifying that to deliver the best total experience, he said, though she wasn't sure why he'd gone to such trouble just for her. The fact that the board seemed to have its own gravitational pull really helped Laurie to keep her balance. She could lean into the wind with both arms outstretched, and enjoy the delightful experience of flight, and there was no danger of her falling off the board.

For nearly an hour, the two flew through the city. Laurie knew that the surfer could have passed effortlessly through any buildings they neared, but instead, he weaved between them for a while, as if just for fun, his board rising further upwards all the time.

At last, the two broke free of the city, in full view of the starry sky above, and there, their movement seemed to have slowed for a bit. The ground had passed by underneath them, but the stars remained the same; looking, if anything, brighter than usual. Without the glare of the lights below in the city, they were more vibrant and distinct than Laurie had ever seen them, and for a moment, she thought that that sight of the starry sky alone had been the best experience of the night.

"That was once my home." the Surfer said, as his board descended slowly over the countryside, many miles from New York, weaving in between scattered trees as he spoke, and spooking a few turkeys, which were wandering through the underbrush, "The stars were beautiful and open to me, and I loved it all, but I gave it up, because I knew I couldn't keep causing death."

The surfer's board had drifted parallel to the ground for a while by that point, upsetting quite a few wild animals, among them coyotes, birds, squirrels, and one grisly bear, before he sped up, moving several miles distance in what seemed like the blink of an eye, to a ridge on a mountain, where no cities had ever been built. Laurie wasn't even sure where the two of them were by that point, though she suspected it was somewhere in New Hampshire, or Maine.

At last, the Surfer's board alighted on a mountainside; a place where there were no tree branches to obscure the full view of the starry sky, and there, he got off the board, waiting for a few seconds. She wasn't sure what to do at first, but eventually, Laurie got off as well, standing on that mountainside with him.

"This is a good place to talk." the surfer observed, looking around the mountainside in interest, "It reminds me of the mountains on Zenn-La; the strong ground that rose above the cities. I didn't spend much time on them, I'm afraid, but I've had the chance to learn appreciation for mountains since then."

"What did you want to talk about?" Laurie asked, as she walked towards the surfer, a little nervous, but no longer afraid of him.

"Tell me something..." the surfer said, "What's happened to you in your life? How did your life begin? What things have happened to shape it?"

Laurie definitely couldn't see the reason for that question, but she answered it very briefly, "Well, I was born in New York, and I've lived there all my life."

The surfer, however, shook his head.

"You have a will of iron, to devote to your morals, and a yearning for justice, trust, and love. Very few people have those things. They've motivated you to dream of a better world. Why?"

For a moment, Laurie didn't even understand the question, so she repeated it to herself in her head, over and over again. The yearning for justice... Her morals... How had they led her to the message board where she'd met the Silver Surfer? Why did she long so desperately for a better world?

"It's because I've been hurt by this one." Laurie explained, "It forced me out, because I wouldn't compromise myself. I wanted a better world, so that I didn't have to worry about that happening."

For a moment, the Silver Surfer just looked intrigued, captivated, and astonished, although Laurie couldn't see his pupils, and couldn't tell what, exactly, he was looking at.

"Tell me what happened." the surfer said, and there was deep sorrow and compassion in his voice as he spoke.

For a few moments, Laurie was silent, but finally, she decided that there was no good reason for not telling the Silver Surfer. He could have found out by himself if he'd wanted to.

"Alright." Laurie said, "The truth is... Until about a year ago, I was an elementary school teacher. I could have worked in high school, or middle school, but I picked elementary school, because I thought that I could make a bigger difference there. Very young kids are more impressionable, and easier to work with. They sometimes listen to the teacher, and it doesn't take all that much coaxing to get them to do what you say. I wanted to help the kids learn what they needed to know; not just basic skills, like reading and writing, but also the difference between right and wrong. As far as I could tell, it was the best way that I could help the people of America."

The surfer just nodded, encouraging Laurie to continue.

"Unfortunately, there were laws passed several years ago that forced certain things on the schools. I kept getting messages from the superintendent about my methods of teaching. You see, the government had managed to pass a bunch of laws that forced teachers in public schools to avoid teachings about morals, and to teach propaganda cooked up by the government instead. That alone took away everything I'd ever wanted from my teaching position, but on top of that, they wanted me to teach children that their parents and grandparents were bigots, for believing in morals that the government didn't."

"I wasn't going to accept that. Eventually, I met with the school principal about it, and he told me that I had to make a choice. Either I had to teach what the government told me to teach, or else, I had to give up my position, and try to find work doing something else. For me, that choice wasn't hard. I couldn't teach children things that I knew were wrong, no matter what kind of financial problems I was hit with as a result. I walked out that door for the last time an hour later, and I haven't had work since then."

"That's terrible." the surfer replied, looking crestfallen, "To be cast out like that, without any chance to contribute to the wellbeing of your people is a horrible thing. I can't imagine anything worse than being abandoned like that..."

"It was pretty hard to accept, at first," Laurie admitted, "but I know I couldn't have made my choice any differently. I wouldn't go back and change it. I think the government is wrong. I can't compromise myself, and I can't compromise on what's taught to children."

"Your courage is admirable." the surfer replied with a smile, "I made a similar choice when I decided to leave the service of Galactus. I've known for a long time that what I've been doing hasn't been right, but I hadn't seen the alternative as being any better, until about a month ago. That was when I made my choice, and I wouldn't take it back."

"Tell me something, Surfer..." Laurie said, curiosity building in her as she stood on that hillside, illuminated only by the moon and stars, "What's your real name?"

The surfer looked a little surprised by the question, but he answered it quickly.

"My name is Norin." the surfer replied, "My second name is Radd."

"You mean your last name." Laurie said, as she tried to clarify what the surfer was telling her.

"No..." the surfer muttered a little, as if trying to search for some way to explain the concept, "My people were given two names, to distinguish themselves from one another, but our second names were very different from the last names of your world. On your world, last names are used to denote heritage, and the family from which one hails. On Zenn-La, we were all family to each other, so last names weren't necessary as such. A closer comparison would be to the middle name concept that you use here on Earth. Both names were given to the child just shortly after the gender was identified, and each was distinct from the names of their parents, and other close relatives. Zenn-La was a place of great trust and joy."

"I can tell..." Laurie replied, though she honestly had a hard time even imagining such a place. After a while, she spoke up again, though she wasn't sure how to phrase her next question precisely.

"Is there anything from your world that you really miss?" Laurie asked.

"The wonders and advancements of Zenn-La were great, and I don't feel the same without them in my life, no matter how advanced my own technology might be." the surfer admitted, with an expression of tender, vulnerable sorrow, "but it's more the people of Zenn-La, than the things that I miss. The people of my homeworld were different from the vast majority of Earthlings. I can't even describe to you their strength of heart, their compassion, or their powerful minds. In my time spent on this planet, you're one of only a few who remind me of my own people."

"If it was so wonderful there, why did you leave?" Laurie blurted out, before she could stop herself. She hadn't meant for the question to sound challenging or offensive, but the surfer looked a little hurt when she'd asked it.

"I had no other choice." he said, "If I hadn't left Zenn-La, I would have died there."

Laurie looked taken aback by that reply, but the surfer just started to smile wryly, taking a seat on a nearby stone, as he began to tell his story in brief.

"My life on Zenn-La was rich with all that I could want. The laws of my world were complex and multifaceted, but outlined clearly and indelibly, as if in stone, and we were restrained, taught, and protected by those laws, which is just what laws should do. We were never hungry, thirsty, or homeless, because we had the technology to warp the shape of physical matter, creating whatever we needed. Even so, we worked hard for each other's benefit, because that was a need as well. Pleasure alone would never have satisfied us, so each of us had a task to perform. Mine was to maintain old machines, in case they should be needed again some day."

"I had a person who I loved more than any other on Zenn-La. She was what you might call a girlfriend. Her names were Shalla and Bal. I cared for her very much."

"Was she very beautiful?" Laurie asked, though that question seemed to cause the surfer to raise one eyebrow.

"By her own standards, yes. I found her beautiful as well, partly because of her great compassion, and her firm commitment to her beliefs. I suppose we were all beautiful to ourselves, though by human standards, I wouldn't say that she was especially attractive. The people of Zenn-La had a broader perspective on beauty than mainstream human society seems to."

Laurie wasn't insulted, however. She just nodded, understanding Norin completely.

"I know what you mean." she muttered.

"However, all of that was endangered when Galactus arrived in our star system." the surfer explained, his face taking on a look of anguish, as Laurie started to feel surprised. She hadn't known much about Galactus, but she'd suspected that his origin had been somehow tied into that of the surfer himself. Obviously, that wasn't the case.

"Yes." the surfer admitted, "I've been alive for a long time; by human standards; maybe even longer than your whole species, but as old as I am, Galactus is many thousands of times older. To trace his age, trace the age of the universe. Since physical existence as we know it first began, Galactus has always been there, and he was always needed to keep everything in balance; the end that makes the beginning of all physical matter self-sufficient, and gives it purpose. He's a true cosmic being."

"When Galactus visited my world, it was for the same reason that he visits any world." the surfer said sadly, "He'd meant to consume the energy of our world, and the star around which we orbited. The people of Zenn-La were helpless before him. We didn't have any ships or weapons, or any knowledge of how to use them, not that they would have made much difference against Galactus anyway. There was no resisting him by force."

"Most people just gave up when they realized what Galactus' intentions were. I was the only one on the whole planet, I'm ashamed to say, who even really wanted to fight Galactus; to give him something to remember the people of Zenn-La by."

"I built a ship for myself within only a few minutes, using my world's technology, and I approached the ship of Galactus as fast as I could. I was surprised, however, when he actually admitted me into his vessel, before I could fire off a single shot."

"As I was drawn into his world ship, my own vessel dissolved around me, leaving me without anything better than my fists to defend myself with. Suddenly, I found myself at the feet of the enormous, shining being called Galactus. At the time, he addressed me directly, telling me his name and his intentions. I'll never forget what he said to me."

"'Don't bother trying to speak. Your words would be meaningless, since I'm already aware of your reason for approaching my ship. Rest assured that I, Galactus, am not here to take any petty, mortal treasure or possession from you. What I need is the energy of your planet and star system, to sustain myself, and to support the balance of the universe. There's nothing more valuable to me than that precious energy, nor will I accept any bribe. No being in the universe can prevent me from absorbing the energy of rich systems like your own. It's inevitable.'"

"'You're only a mortal. There's nothing that you can do to stop me, though since you value your life enough to pursue me here, I see no reason not to let you stay aboard my ship for the moment. I warn you, however, that as long as you're aboard my vessel, you'll need to be present at the death of this world and many others, and watch great suffering, which only I know how to endure. You may find that too much to bear, in time, until even death might seem like a mercy."

"Well, what could I say?" the surfer asked, "Those words scared me out of my wits, but I hadn't gone to Galactus' ship to escape death for myself, but to save my world, and I made sure to tell him so. I told him that he could do whatever he wanted with me, but that he had to spare my world in exchange. My words seemed to bore him, however."

"'If only it were that simple.' Galactus replied to me, 'If one man's death could generate the energy that I need, I would indeed accept your offer, but you have nothing to offer me that could compare to the power of this star system.'"

"I was starting to get desperate by that point, so I tried to reason with him. I told him that with his wisdom, there had to be another solution. Surely, I told him, there must be other star systems; even stronger ones, with no intelligent life in them. He took my suggestion calmly, and then, he spoke to me again."

"'True.' Galactus told me, 'The stars in this universe number in the trillions, and the vast majority of them are uninhabited by intelligent beings. However, when I reach a system that has intelligent life, I can't simply pass it by, in the hopes that the next one will be more acceptable. I need to take energy where I can find it. If a system is rich, I need to consume it, because moving my ship consumes a great deal of energy by itself. To detect and reach a star strong enough to be worth the journey is a hard enough task. I can't afford to be wasteful.'"

"However, that was when Galactus made me his offer," the surfer continued, "I knew as soon as I heard it that I had to accept. He told me that if there were someone he could trust, to share his power cosmic with, he would give them the power to move through the star systems; the speed to search a thousand systems, using the same amount of energy that it would take him to reach only one. He said that if such a person existed, to summon him to the worlds richest in energy, they might save countless intelligent races from extinction at his hands."

"Neither of us were under any illusions about the offer that he was really making me that night. I asked him if he'd spare my world if I agreed to become his emissary, but the question wasn't necessary. He said that for the mortal who was able to live life as his emissary, he'd grant any single favor, including the life of an entire star system."

"I accepted his offer without hesitation, and I took up the mantle of his emissary. That was when I was merged with this armor that you see all over me, and with the board that I can use as an extension of myself."

"After that, I made only a brief trip back to the surface of Zenn-La, to say good-bye to my beloved Shalla Bal for the last time. Her tears spoke volumes to me. She knew that after that day, she'd never see me again, and I had no way to comfort her. I told her not to be afraid, because our world was safe, but I could tell that her love for me, and her pain over losing me had only grown greater when she'd realized the sacrifice that I'd made to save our people. Even after all these eons, the memory of those tears is still fresh in my mind."

"In spite of my sorrow over all that I'd lost, I knew the life that I had to lead from that point on. I left that world, and began scouting star systems, searching for strong systems with no intelligent life, and for almost a century, I learned to enjoy life among the stars. My role in the universe was a dark one, but I still found ways to enjoy it, until I found myself in a terrible position, almost a hundred and fifty of your years after I began my service to Galactus."

"Suddenly, I discovered that there was only one strong star within a distance of a hundred light years, and it bore living creatures on one of its planets. Their intelligence and maturity were inferior to the people of Zenn-La. In fact, they were what you might have called cave-people, in terms of their level of development, but they were using tools, and had discovered basic weapons, with which to defend themselves."

"They were clever, at least, if not particularly intelligent by some definitions, and I had no desire to see them perish. However, I knew that Galactus would pass through that stretch of space soon, and when he did, he'd notice the star that was stronger than all the others. There was no protecting that world."

"I summoned Galactus to that planet, and it was the first time that I'd ever doomed a developing species of intelligent beings. Though I've done the same thing many more times since then, it was always as a last resort, and I never felt comfortable with it, as Galactus did. I saw my role in that as nearly-intolerable, but it wasn't until I reached Earth that I seriously questioned the morality of my actions."

"I'd always viewed my role as a necessary one; preventing as much damage to intelligent beings as I could, and only giving in when there was no other choice. However, murder is still murder, even if one's intent is to prevent needless death and suffering. It took me a very long time to realize that."

"When I left the service of Galactus, I knew he wouldn't return to Zenn-La, to consume it over my betrayal. Galactus isn't such a petty being, that he'd waste so much energy reaching Zenn-La, all those light years away, just because I refused to follow him anymore. Still, I asked him if he had any intention of going back on his word, if he should ever be near Zenn-La again, and his reply to me was very surprising."

"Galactus told me that it didn't matter, because my people had already transcended the need for their planet. He also said that my service to him had been sufficient to purchase the survival of a species, even if they hadn't. At that point, though, he told me that although my service had been excellent, my betrayal was still devastating, and that I had to be punished in such a way that I could not return to the race of beings that had born me."

"Galactus' punishment was to trap me here, in this star system, by removing the power of my board to warp relativity, thus traveling beyond the speed of light in a vacuum. At this point, I could still try to travel the stars, but if I did, it would require a commitment of hundreds of thousands of years to cross the galaxy, even at my maximum speed. In a way, Galactus' punishment has been worse than removing my powers completely, since my power cosmic will remind everyone on Earth of the global devastation I nearly caused, but even without that problem, I still face the difficulty of trying to coexist with the human race. It's not easy, and I know that you understand that. When I first arrived on Earth, I was convinced that the people of your world were so mired in hate and selfishness, that they'd never be able to unite, and build a better world for themselves; not even in a hundred thousand years."

For a few seconds, Laurie paused, not sure what to say, but at last, she spoke, determined to try to cheer the surfer up.

"You're right." Laurie admitted, "It might not happen in a hundred thousand years, or it might happen tomorrow. There's no way to really tell."

"But surely, the evidence is that..." the surfer began, though he trailed off when Laurie started shaking her head.

"That's what it means to dream of something better." Laurie replied, "Not only do we work for a better future; but we don't need evidence to tell us that it can happen. I know that there can be a world where people actually understand the rules of right and wrong, and what makes them that way. In fact, I'm more convinced of that now than ever. I think our world has hope for the future, Norid Radd, and I think you do too. That's what it means to live the life of a dreamer."

A few seconds later, the surfer was smiling again, as his board righted itself, floating into the air, and he encouraged Laurie to get on. In a moment, the Silver Surfer had picked up a rock from the ground, and when he held it out for Laurie, it's whole color and consistency had changed.

"Thank you." the surfer said, as he held out the solid gold nugget for Laurie to take, "I needed that assurance. I feel a lot better. May I fly you home?"

However, in spite of the gold in her hands, worth many thousands of dollars, Laurie wasn't drawn in by it. Nothing in the nearby vicinity could distract her from the Silver Surfer. He was, in that moment, the centerpiece of her world.

"Can we take our time getting back?" Laurie asked sheepishly, as the surfer got onto his board, and she was happy to see that he reacted to her request with a broad, pleased smile. It seemed that he was just happy to have found one person who trusted him.

* * *

Within ten minutes, both Xavier and Anna were out on the lawn, watching in amazement, and a little worry, as the small, flying stealth craft of Victor Von Doom descended onto the grounds of the Xavier Institute without even a single sound, and without setting off any of the mansion's many security alarms. Xavier found that distressing, and reminded himself to install a few more sensors just in case, as the ship made a complete landing, then opened. At last, out stepped two figures; the thin, red-haired woman known as Widow, and the armor-clad figure that the whole world recognized as Doctor Doom.

"I see we were expected." Doom said, as he approached the two mutants slowly, "Curious."

"Never mind that." Widow replied, "We just need to resolve this issue without giving away any more information about this crisis than we have to."

"Giving away information to whom, exactly?" Xavier asked curiously, "To me? I already know why you're here. Anna's told me everything."

For a moment, Widow's eyes seemed to dart in multiple directions. She glanced at Anna, then stared at Xavier, then looked back to Anna again, and her eyes narrowed in contempt.

"I know you're afraid you'll be taken back to prison for what you've done..." Widow began, but in that instance, she'd read Anna's actions all wrong.

"Why?" Anna asked with a glare of her own, "Is traveling through time against the law? If so, you ought to lock yourself up too."

"It would be shortsighted to completely outlaw time travel." Widow replied, though her glare didn't soften at all as she spoke, "However, what you've done is completely unacceptable. You have no idea how badly you've endangered our whole timeline."

For a moment, Anna wasn't sure what Widow was talking about, but just then, she started to use the brilliant, scientific brain of Hank Pym, and began to grasp some of the danger of that situation. Temporal theory hadn't been his area of expertise, but he'd had it in him to understand the concept, at least.

"You mean this whole time..." Anna muttered in horror, "This is the kind of time travel that can damage causality..."

At once, Anna turned on Doom, and there were sparks of electricity visible in her eyes as she faced him directly, her rage almost palpable.

"You idiot! Why would you leave something like that lying around? Don't you even know how dangerous that kind of technology is?"

"Any kind of technology can be dangerous if it's misused." Doom simply replied calmly, "I kept my time travel device because I knew that I could trust myself to never misuse it's power. Now, I turn that question back on you. Did you have any idea how dangerous my technology was when you insisted on using it for your own selfish ends, or did you just act on your feelings, with no regard for the consequences of those actions?"

Anna looked like she wanted to make another angry outburst, but she couldn't think of anything to say. In the end, she just turned back away from Doom sadly.

"Fortunately, if you come back with me right now, there might not be any significant damage." Widow said, taking just a moment to check some sort of tracking device that she seemed to have brought with her, "You don't know that much about our timeline yourself, so you couldn't have told the Professor anything too sensitive."

"It may be easier to solve this problem than you think." Doom said, an amused tone starting to emerge in his voice as he spared Widow a short glance, "Widow, how much do you know about the superhuman population of the planet Earth as they're going to develop over the next five years?"

"Almost everything." Widow replied, "I could give you a name, description, and history of virtually every mutant and metahuman to surface in the next eighty years, although I obviously can't do that with the professor listening."

When he heard that, Xavier had to fight back the temptation to try to read Widow's thoughts. If she really knew all that she said she did, then she could have given him an incredible advantage in predicting and responding to future challenges, but the way she was reacting to what Anna had done gave Xavier the distinct impression that something about the situation was dangerous. It might, in fact, be hazardous for him to know too much about his own future, even if he'd had no moral objections to reading another person's thoughts without their permission.

"Tell me something..." Doom said, addressing Anna directly again, "Why would you bother coming here? I've known for months that this place was the headquarters of the X-men, but you must have known that fighting them one last time wouldn't accomplish anything. What did you really want from them?"

However, as Doom asked that question, Anna just started to look sadder than ever. A few seconds later, her reply was full of disappointment, and even a little fear.

"Ah guess that when the professor helped me sort things out, ah sort of figured ah owed him a little something. Ah felt like ah never really made things right with him; like ah never got the chance..." Anna said, "Ah knew ah'd made a lot of trouble; for him and for the X-men, and ah guess ah just wanted the chance to make it up to 'em; maybe even get to know 'em a little. These last few weeks have been really great."

Doom started to look just a little concerned, but it seemed obvious that for some reason, he believed Anna.

"There's something we need to decide on before we make any moves." Doom said, "First, the three of us need to talk, then I'll need to speak with Widow alone, but for the moment, Professor Xavier, I'd like to ask you one thing. If Anna were to stay here with you, would you be willing to accept her?"

"I've never treated a fellow human being with prejudice," Xavier replied, "only justice. Anna's presence here these last few weeks hasn't been overly disruptive, and I don't object to it. In fact, I'd say that she's managed to add something to the school that it needed, although things could get complicated if the Avengers find out she's here."

Doom just nodded, then said, in a surprisingly tender voice "Thank you."

Those two words alone shocked Xavier so much, that he couldn't have even said a word to stop the three figures when they stepped into Doom's aircraft, and the door to it closed behind them silently.

* * *

Widow wasn't sure what Doom was planning as the door to his ship closed, and the two found themselves alone with Anna. Doom wasn't from the future, like Widow was, but he knew all about the problem; maybe even better than she did. He knew that if a person from the future caused huge changes to their own past, the timeline would be fractured, and the very survival of the universe might be endangered. As one of the most gifted temporal physicists in the world, he must have had a thorough understanding of the danger that Anna posed, as long as she was around the X-men, and yet, for some reason, Doom didn't look the least bit worried. In fact, he'd even brought up the subject of Anna staying, as if that was a genuine option. Widow was definitely not following Doom's reasoning, in spite of her own well-honed intelligence.

"I just want to ask you a couple of questions, and then I'll need to discuss things with Widow." Doom said to Anna as she stood in the middle of his aircraft, still looking sad, "First I'd like you to tell me everything that you know about the future you come from. Everything. Don't leave anything out. Chances are, I know it all already."

Anna seemed a little nervous at first, so she glanced toward Widow, as if to ask whether it was alright to reveal anything to Doom. Widow, however, had already told Doom even more about the future than Anna knew, so she just gave the mutant girl a nod of consent.

"This is what ah know about the future." Anna admitted reluctantly, "Ah know that Thor is still alive. Ah know that Widow and Miss Marvel are still alive, and so are you. Ah know that you're a member of the Avengers, and that the cities are bigger than they are in this time period. Ah also know that the X-men ah knew are dead, but Xavier's school is still around, and being run by a man named Bishop."

Doom seemed pleased by the answer, but he insisted on asking again, "Are you sure that's all? You don't know anything else about the future?"

"Ah was locked in a lonely room underground for eighty years." Anna replied, "How much could ah know?"

"Alright." Doom replied, "In that case, I just need to speak to Widow alone for a moment."

Quickly, Doom walked through a metal door into the cockpit of the aircraft, and Widow followed him. The moment that both were through the doorway, Doom pushed a small button next to it, causing it to close silently, and completely separating the cockpit from the rest of the aircraft.

"No sound can get out of this cockpit from within right now." Doom said, "We're safe from prying ears. Now, explain something to me in detail, Widow. I want you to give me the names and rough descriptions of all the X-men from your time."

Widow's eyes narrowed for a moment when Doom said that, however.

"What's your game, Doom?" Widow asked suspiciously.

"I'll tell you once you've answered my question." Doom replied, however, still looking stern.

Widow didn't really like that arrangement, but she started listing mutants anyway.

"Bishop is a tall, black man with a beard. He has the power to absorb, expel, and redirect all forms of radiant energy. Driver is a young, white man, with blond hair and large forearms. He has the power to rotate whole sections of his body with superhuman speed, turning himself into a human drill. Phoenix is a white, red-haired woman of average height. She has both telepathic and telekinetic powers on a very large scale. Cannonball is a young-looking, white male with blond hair. He's invulnerable to most kinds of attacks, and has the ability to fly with superhuman speed, as well as generating explosions of destructive energy from his arms and legs. Wolverine is a short, shaggy, dark-haired, white man who likes to keep to himself. He has enhanced senses of smell and hearing, as well as the power to heal rapidly from severe injuries. His bones are unbreakable, and he has razor-sharp claws that emerge from the backs of his hands. Rogue is a young-looking girl with long, mostly brown hair. She has the powers of superhuman strength, speed, and endurance, and can generate electricity within her body. Olympian is..."

"Stop." Doom said, sounding amused, "I've heard enough. Widow, I'm convinced that Anna's presence in this time period is meant to be. You can't take her back to the future."

Widow was starting to look worried when Doom said that, but it wasn't long before she saw what he was trying to say.

"No, Doom." Widow said, "Rogue isn't Anna. Her real name is Alexis Raven. In terms of build, she's a little thicker than Anna around the arms and legs, and her face looks nothing like Anna's."

"Widow," Doom said, sounding a little disappointed by her reply, "all of that can be fabricated. If I want to, I can make an artificial past for her, change her facial features by coaxing her muscles into a new configuration with energy pulses, and give her the chance to alter her own muscle size by taxing her to whatever limits she might have. I'm convinced that Anna Marie Darkholme is Rogue."

"It's too dangerous." Widow objected, "It's too much of a risk. If you don't have any proof that the two of them are the same person..."

"Have you ever seen childhood pictures, or videos of Alexis Raven?" Doom asked, "Can you confirm anything about her past before she joined the X-men?"

Widow shook her head, however, as she continued to glare at Doom.

"That's not enough." she replied, "It's not proof."

"There's no such thing as absolute proof," Doom said in exasperation, "but fine. Have it your way. There's one more way to be sure."

In a moment, Doom had typed a few commands into his aircraft computer, and seven images had appeared along the monitor screen.

"When did Rogue first join the X-men?" Doom asked.

"It wasn't until several months after Galactus left Earth..." Widow said, "Although Alexis had been a student at the Xavier institute since almost a month after the incident."

"Well, these are all the people in the world named Alexis Raven." Doom said, gesturing to the images on the computer display, "Do any of them look familiar to you?"

Widow had been skeptical of the idea at first, but as she looked at those pictures, none of them looking even remotely like Rogue, she knew that she had to accept the truth of the situation. In fact, it was starting to appall her that she hadn't drawn that conclusion before then. After spending several seconds in thought, Widow finally gave in.

"Alright. So what's your plan, Doom?"

"I'm going to use my technology to alter Anna's features, until she begins to resemble Rogue by encouraging, discouraging, and shifting her muscles with a machine that I invented to help people with badly disfigured features. Unfortunately, it doesn't smooth out burned skin, or heal scars, or else I could use it on myself, but it should work for our purposes. I'll alter her appearance until she looks exactly like Rogue."

"How will you know when she looks enough like Rogue?" Widow asked.

"I won't, but you will." Doom explained, "You'll give me instructions during the whole process and let me know when I've got it right. After that, I'll fabricate a fake lineage for her, and with a little care, no one's going to question it. She'll be ready to return to the Institute by the end of the week."

For a few more moments, neither said a word, but at last, with a brief chuckle, Doom asked, "You're not worried she'll tell them anything sensitive, are you?"

"How could she?" Widow replied, still scowling, "She doesn't know anything. I just wish I could have predicted how things would turn out. This whole affair could have gone disastrously if I hadn't taken you into my confidence. I'm still not sure I understand what happened here today."

"You just can't get used to nonlinear thinking, can you?" Doom asked, sounding amused.

"No," Widow replied, "and once I return to my own time period, I hope I never see another time travel device in my life."

Doom seemed to mostly find the whole situation funny, however, as he opened a nearby compartment in one of the cockpit walls, drawing a small machine out of it; shaped roughly like a cereal bowl with sliding rods threaded through it.

* * *

In some ways, the experiences of that day had made Doom feel extremely good. There was a great deal more hope in his heart than there had been before the day had started. On the other hand, the knowledge that he possessed was going to make his future somewhat more difficult.

As Doom docked his plane at a hangar in his castle, there was no scraping noise, nor any sign of Widow. Undoubtedly, she'd headed right for his time machine, to return to her own time period, after giving him the information he'd needed, and in a sense, Doom was also pleased by the way that their mission had been resolved. It confirmed everything that she'd told him about the future.

At the doors of the hangar, Doom was met by Eugene Gorzenko; one of his many faithful subordinates, and it was there that Gorzenko asked him a question.

"How was your day, master?"

Doom had to think about that for a moment, before replying, but when he did, there wasn't any doubt in his voice.

"Today, I learned something that puts a great responsibility on my shoulders, and changes the whole tone of my mission on this Earth." Doom said, "That won't be easy to accept, but on the other hand, I'm convinced that there is hope for this planet. The children and grandchildren of this generation will have a great deal more to look forward to in their future... I'd say that it was a very good day."

* * *

"I think you just made it up."

"Nuh-uh. It was right over here."

"Maybe it's more to the left."

"Not that way, Katie. Your other left."

"How should I know what left?"

"Where was that thing you found, Julie?"

"It was right over here. I swear."

Julie Power pointed over the nearest hill, directing her brothers and sister onward. They were hardly organized, but then, they were still kids. Still, they were her brothers and sister, and they were also her closest friends. When she'd found the secret object in the wilderness, Julie knew that she had to show it to her siblings before she got any closer to it, but some of them were a little impatient, and they didn't know how far away the object was.

Of course, it was late, and the sun had gone down. They weren't even supposed to have left their bedrooms at that hour, but when Julie had found the object, she'd insisted that it was really, really important, and they had, in the end, all gone along with her. In just a few moments, they all climbed up, over the nearest hill, and there, they saw an incredible sight.

Lying on the ground, in the center of a small crater, was a structure of some kind; about the size of a school bus, and made of a sort of metal, that glittered in a hundred colors, and seemed to be smoldering, as if it had been on fire a moment before.

"Whoa." Alex said, as he looked over the hill towards the large, metal, saucer-shaped contraption, "This is serious. It looks like an alien ship. Do you think maybe Galactus left it here?"

"We should call the 'vengers." Katie piped up.

"Dummy." Jack said, from where he was, "Why would the Avengers listen to us? We're just kids."

"Well, we've gotta do something." Julie replied, as she started to get a little closer to the ship. Alex was obviously getting more and more scared, as she drew nearer to it, however.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Alex exclaimed, "Don't get too close. You don't know what could happen. There could be all kinds of alien monsters in there."

"We can't just walk away. We've gotta check this out!" Julie exclaimed, moving towards the alien ship. As she got closer, however, something in the ship started to react, and in just a moment, all four children fell silent in shock, not one of them able to move. Soon, a hidden door on the side of the ship had fallen off completely with a clattering noise, and inside, there was one of the most beautiful creatures that Julie had ever seen. It looked like a white horse, walking upright, except with three-fingered hands, instead of front hooves, and three joints on its legs. It would have been even more beautiful, however, if it hadn't obviously been injured.

In just a moment, the strange creature took only a few steps out of its ship, falling to the ground in pain, and Julie rushed forward on impulse, her heart going out to the odd being from space.

"Julie!" Alex whispered sharply, "Don't be an idiot! Get away from that thing!"

"He's hurt!" Julie snapped back at her brother, "We have to help him!"

However, just then, the being looked up, and spoke in a voice that seemed to tremble, like the neigh of a horse, but he was clearly speaking in English.

"No... There's no time. My injuries... too great... Have to complete my mission."

"Mis'sin?" Katie asked, not sure what to think.

"Doctor Power..." the creature said, "Have to warn him... His machine."

"Our dad?" Julie asked, suddenly becoming alarmed, "What about him?"

"Listen..." the being from space said quickly, "You have to destroy Doctor Power's machine. If not... Your whole world..."

At that point, he convulsed in agony, and it was only then that he seemed to calm down a little.

"Destroy his machine?" Alex asked, casting aside his reservations, "What machine? How?"

"The antimatter machine." the being said, "It won't work. Tell him... The danger... But that's the least of your fears. You have much to face... in the future. Such danger... Such vast powers..."

Katie started to cry silently, as she heard the strange being's words, but his mission was too important to be left alone.

"You'll need great power to protect your family through the times ahead," the creature gasped out at last, "and my powers will do me no further good. Take what's left of my power. Practice with its use, and... feel it grow as you do... Learn to... defend against your enemies... This is all I can offer you... My ship will... guide you... Save... your... world..."

Then, with those words, he breathed his last.

Suddenly, a bright, shining light emerged from the strange being's body, and in just a moment, all four of the Power children started to glow in different colors of the rainbow. They were terrified, not knowing what had happened to them, but as they rushed home that night, away from the alien space ship, they started to realize that they had a mission of their own to complete. They weren't really sure what kind of legacy the alien being had left them, but, Alex knew, if he'd been telling the truth, the future would be a very difficult and exciting time.

* * *

End.

* * *

Well, I guess that's it. That's the end, and I can't say it hasn't been a fun ride. Honestly, I have so many other story ideas, that I could keep this up for years if I had the time, freedom, and motivation, because pretty much every time Marvel does something totally rotten to boost sales, it gives me another idea for a story in which it all goes right. If nothing else, I hope I've helped to prove that money is the root of many, many bad stories.

A friend of mine once asked me if I'd ever considered doing anything like this to DC as well, since they seem to have made many of the same mistakes as Marvel during the nineties and early twenty-first century, but when I really thought it over, I eventually decided against it. You see, a Neoverse version of DC Comics would be almost identical to the DC Animated Universe, except with the Golden Age version of Lois Lane (the one that was courageous and capable in her own right, without being rude or abrasive.) I would have needed to steal too much from Paul Dini, and as ironic as these words may sound near the end of a very long fanfiction, I don't enjoy stealing from other writers.

The truth is, I had (and still have, really) a lot to get off my chest, because even in their early years, Marvel made some major missteps, in my opinion. Ideally, these characters would one day fall into the hands of a whole team of people not unlike myself, who prefer hope to despair, and a happy ending over pointless pessimism and angst, thus giving each of these characters the chance to really shine on their own. I would, for example, have loved to do more with the Fantastic Four, the Power Pack, or the amazing Spider-man.

Of course, just because I don't have the time to tell whole stories doesn't mean I can't outline the kind of vision I would have had for the future of the Neoverse, if it wasn't ending, but before I do that, I have one more thing to say.

These last few chapters of the Marvel Universe Neo were rather tightly interwoven with their counterparts in my other Neoverse fanfic; labeled "The Xavier Institute Neo." I strongly recommend reading them too, if you haven't already.

Ideally, the next chapter would open with Peter Parker at school, meeting, and getting to know a girl named Gwen Stacy. They share a common interest in Spider-man, and in photography, and after a few days, they become friends. Peter even starts to question his crush on Mary Jane, but the Green Goblin learns about Peter's friendship with Gwen from Harry in passing, and kidnaps her, intending to use her as a hostage, thus leading to another battle between the Avengers and the Goblin's forces. In the end, Gwen falls from a high building, however, unlike in the original comic, Spider-man succeeds in saving her life.

This doesn't solve all of Peter's problems, and in the end, in a supreme moment of irony, Gwen assumes that her kidnapping by the goblin was due to something that her father; Captain Stacey did, and tells Peter that it's not safe to be her friend anymore, discouraging any chance for a real relationship to develop. Of course, Peter knows that Gwen is wrong about that, but can't tell her the truth without revealing his identity, and worse, without revealing that he was the reason why she was nearly killed in the first place.

This forces Peter to reconsider the wisdom of getting close to anyone; including Mary Jane, as long as the Green Goblin is on the loose, so he approaches Widow with the problem.

In the subsequent issue, Widow would be tracking down incriminating evidence on Norman Osborne, with the intention of shutting him down for good, only to run into several government agents; attempting the same thing. Widow doesn't trust them at first, demanding to know what agency they belong to, but they reveal nothing. However, the Sandman shows up shortly, and three of the agents manage to defeat him through a combination of martial arts skill, quick thinking, and borderline superhuman powers.

Only a week later, Osborne is arrested. Widow is almost certain that he'll be able to worm his way out with a few clever attorneys, but it gives her a bit of time to study the government agents who were gathering information on him. She quickly learns that they belong to the same group who assisted the Avengers against Doctor Doom; an international security organization, established to respond to threats against the free world, to terrorism, and to any threat of war between the Earth's major nations, but as for the name of the organization, or who controls it, no information is publicly available.

This leads Widow to yet another mystery, in which she learns of the identity of SHIELD, and their high commander; Nicholas Joseph Fury. More importantly, she discovers that he possesses the same powers and special traits as her; her unnatural longevity, rigidly-efficient mentality, and craving for a worthy cause to pursue.

Widow's search for more information about Fury, and how he acquired his special abilities would lead her to even more evidence about the Russian super soldier programs, and more information about herself, but as a government agent, there's also some question of whether Fury himself can be trusted.

After that, "Tales" would have been plunged into another cosmic crisis, with the birth of Sue and Reed Richards' new baby boy, and subsequent discovery of his superhuman powers. Franklin's young, chaotic thoughts, in command of his vast powers would put the heroes to the test again, as Reed searched desperately for some way to subdue his son's abilities, in the hope of saving his life.

Ultimately, it would be the Power Pack who would finally manage to keep Franklin under control just long enough for Reed to develop a means of suppressing his son's dangerous abilities, and giving him the chance to learn and grow up; almost like an ordinary child.

I'm sure that these storylines alone would have taken over a year to tell, but as I said, telling them in full would just gobble up too much of my time. A shame, really, but this is how the Marvel Universe would have gone if I was Marvel's editor at the time.

Who knows? Maybe somebody else will take up the cause. Maybe someone will tell these stories one day, and if they do, I hope they'll bare in mind the careful methods of storytelling that have made these tales so much fun.

What are those methods? I always allow three rules to govern these universes that I write.

First, all pessimism, and most pessimists and self-centered materialists are temporary, and they learn their lesson in time, as the heroes eventually prevail.

Second, the heroes do eventually prevail, though there may be setbacks, tragedies, and even deaths; the heroes remain heroic, and they continue to do the right thing, no matter what temptations may arise. All of these heroes have their weaknesses, but they rarely give in to them, and it's not dwelled on when they do. Everything looks positive. Neoverse Tony Stark may still drink sometimes, and Neoverse Hawkeye may still have some tension between himself and Widow at times, but the real focus of the stories isn't on what our heroes do wrong, but on what they do right; on the things about them that can inspire us to be heroes ourselves.

Most importantly, all of this is for the purpose of bringing the most out of these characters. If I've changed some characters, or allowed some to disappear, it's mainly been from a desire to see them improved, or to see something more impressive, inspiring, and complex come out of them.

At the end of it all, if there was one message that I wanted this fanfiction to convey, it's this; pessimism is not the same thing as realism, and corruption is not the same thing as character complexity. In fact, there's nothing less complex that giving in to your baser tendencies. What's really impressive is when people keep trying to be the best they can be; not just for themselves, but for all the people depending on them.

In the end, that's what heroes are really all about.

Excelsior, true believers.

-Bra1n1ac-


End file.
